


Hold Me Now, Warm My Heart

by OptimisticJamie



Series: Gwaedhiel Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Family Loss, Grief, Loss, PTSD, Slow Burn, really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimisticJamie/pseuds/OptimisticJamie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One would think that surviving an earth-shattering explosion that invaded the very fabric of the Fade impossible, that the heat from the catastrophic event would melt the skin from the bones and drop what was left of the body into the ash, or if one managed to escape into the Fade; that the unearthly realm would not allow such a person to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started playing inquisition again and created a new character who I quickly fell in love with--again. 
> 
> Gwaedhiel is pronounced Gwye-thee-ell

One would think that surviving an earth-shattering explosion that invaded the very fabric of the Fade impossible, that the heat from the catastrophic event would melt the skin from the bones and drop what was left of the body into the ash, or if one managed to escape into the Fade; that the unearthly realm would not allow such a person to leave. 

What the Fade deposited in the rubble of the Temple of Sacred Ashes was an elven woman. Dalish no less. Witnesses to her appearance passed the story in hushed whispers and fear-fuelled glances back to the jail, telling of how the dark-skinned elf had sworn viciously at them in her own tongue, magic crackled around her--whether that was from the Fade or her own magical ability, no one was entirely certain--her narrow, golden eyes rested atop high cheekbones and her pointed ears gave her an almost sinister appearance. 

Her lack of orientation proved to be the cause of her capture. She simply turned on the spot and collapsed into the arms of the dark-haired woman with an equally defined face and a heavy Neverran accent. 

With a hiss and a spit the elf agreed to help. If only to find a way to return to her clan. 

 

\----------

 

It was during her daily rituals that the gravity of the situation finally settled on Gwaedhiel's shoulders. The biting chill of the Frostback wind barely kept away by a thick cloak and a simple warming spell as she paced around the town of Haven, watching, keeping silent, waiting. Her chance to run home will come, it has to, but the duty thrust upon her by the shemlen people of Ferelden prevented her from leaving, from returning to her family and her children. 

Being First to a clan that had no mages for six generations, she was considered old for her role. Almost thirty-five years, four hundred and twenty turns of the moon, while other clans had Firsts as young as ten years. This still did not phase her as much as having the title of Andraste's blessed Herald hovering over her head. 

Shemlens were a race she steered clear of, the only extended interaction engaged being merchant trading, or learning Common when she was but a child. That was a long time ago, now her heart was set. She was weary of men, and did not wish to take part of their beliefs; but walking around Haven, hefting a heavy, bladed, staff she was constantly reminded of the task she was handed, and could not give back even if she tried. 

”Good day, Herald." 

”Good morning, Herald of Andraste."

”Maker guide you, Herald." 

That last greeting always grated her, like a mabari dozing in the sun that was suddenly disturbed by a small child rubbing it's fur the wrong way, it was an annoyance, and something she did not welcome. Their Maker did not guide her, no. The Creators guided her, looked out for her. They were responsible for her magic manifesting, for her escape from the Circle the Templars had dragged her to after her birth clan was destroyed, to find clan Lavellan where she continued to grow, and gave life to her two children. 

She took the greetings for what they were: greetings, and acknowledged each with a curt nod in the direction of the speaker. Her daily rituals now accompanied by a small crowd, she paced the town before using the blade of her staff to draw in the snow, intricate patterns that were either blown away in a sudden flurry, or were trampled into the earth by the boots of the villagers.   
Next came the meditation. Her Keeper had taught her that meditating was the best way to keep her mind calm, to keep the strongest reign over her magic and her body--and so she meditated often, frequently continuing till someone was forced to disturb her with a knock on her door, or a tap on the shoulder because she is blocking the path again. 

She chose the low stone wall in front of the Chantry this time. It's was cold, so cold in fact that many of the usual Inquisition soldiers milling about were no where to be seen. Or heard. Or perhaps it was because the sun's rays had not yet blessed the Frostbacks with what little warmth they could give. 

It did not matter, for it gave Gwaedhiel the chance to meditate in peace. 

She sat with her legs crossed, feet bare despite the cold, with her hands pressed together; palms flat against each other, between the skin of her hands she channeled a small amount of heat energy that spread through her hands and fingers and gradually seeped into the rest of her body, warming her and filling her mind with images of campfires almost as tall as the canopy, dances around the flames celebrating the turn of the season, and the chance to migrate further north where the better soil dwells, the bigger animals, and the larger land.   
Slowly she turned the warm spell to cool, cooling it till any shem's body would quake violently. She shivered, but fought against the involuntary muscle spasms as she now thought about the forests in winter. Endless fields of white, broken only by grey and black trunks that rose from the snow into the air, clawing for height, as if trying to win some unseen prize that was forever out of reach, for even the oldest trees had no yet acquired it. 

And so Gwaedhiel's meditation period continued for another turn of the clock, almost an hour later she opened her eyes, her senses returning and her gaze sharpening. The sun had risen, and with it the town. 

Already the dwarf could be seen heading into the tavern for something to eat. Gwaedhiel thought to join him. Varric was her first friend, the only person to not immediately question her, then ignore her answers and continue to accuse her because "she has the eyes of someone who lies". Instead the dwarf had begun to sprout the most amusing accusations about the Seeker, effectively cutting the other woman off mid-sentence because she could not say anything to the contrary. 

Instead, Gwaedhiel was surprised to find her attention was needed elsewhere. A runner had arrived and greeted her with a "Herald" before handing her a slip of parchment with a few words scrawled across it in neat, sloping handwriting. The Ambassador, she suspected, had handwriting as nice as this, if not nicer. 

Apparently she was needed in the war room. She got to her feet with no complaints, dislodging her staff from its vertical position in the snow, and began walking to the Chantry doors. The Chantry man who despised her, Roderick, was already standing outside. Gwaedhiel had been with the Inquisition as its Herald for nearly a month now, she saw no other reason for Roderick to continue hating her other than the simple fact that he just did not like elves. 

That or he was jealous. 

Gwaedhiel doubted that. 

 

\---------  
 _  
It was possibly the foolish option, but to go around the mountain would take too long, and she had no desire to drag this pointless battle out any longer. Despite coming off cold and cruel, Gwaedhiel had a soft heart, and she felt an intense need to help and save everyone she ever came across who was in a bad situation._

_Andruil guide her, she could not do that here. There were too many things happening at once, the battle was a mess with no structure or strategy of victory, just one simple order: don't die._

_Survive she did, as did many others. As Seeker Cassandra pulled on her bicep, forcing her to follow, she looked over her shoulder as the man introduced simply as Commander helped injured men back to the tents. She wanted to help, not continue on, but the instant grip of Cassandra's hand did not relent till she was following the other woman closely._

 

\---------

 

Val Royaux was her next stop. In Orlais. Gwaedhiel had never been outside of the Free Marches, and maybe the northern most part of Ferelden, before. To cross the border into territory she was completely unfamiliar with was rather unsettling, but once the horses were taken and stabled and she carefully walked down the large, rather unnecessary cobblestone street to the city of Val Royaux her nerves settled. 

Varric, Cassandra, and the other elf, Solas, were with her. Solas intrigued Gwaedhiel. She knew he frequently walked the Fade, how could she not? She walked the Fade herself from time to time, but only for a few minutes if she was lucky, before she would retreat back to her body and vow to stay there. 

At least for a week. 

But Solas frequented the Fade, almost on a daily basis. The constant movement between realms gave the elf a wisdom Gwaedhiel was envious of, she spoke with him often; learning as much as she could until she realised that Solas was much older than she was first led to believe. She did not know if that information unsettled her, but it certainly didn't comfort her. 

The walls of Val Royaux were lush with decorations and trims, window boxes housed many exotic plants--some Gwaedhiel recognised as highly poisonous if ingested, this she told no one--flags and drapes hung from high arches and hooks that fluttered in the breeze. People milled about in fine, fancy clothes that seemed far too hot for a warm day, making her wonder if anyone was sweating under all those layers of chiffon and silk.   
The city was crawling with Templars. The flaming sword filled Gwaedhiel's vision like a shadow of Fen'Heral. A vision of death, destruction, and complete and utter control. She had to get away from the sword, it was because of the Templars that her parents, her siblings, and her first Keeper were slaughtered, their bodies left to rot in the positions in which they fell. Gwaedhiel did not know why they spared her, just that she was alive. 

Her time in the Circle allowed her to learn magic, but not the way she wanted. Shemlen magic had to be controlled, it was not permitted to be an expression of emotion. Gwaedhiel struggled with this, and often found herself at the mercy of a Templar's Holy Smite, despite her magic never being offensive. 

She thanked Mythal every day for her escape. 

The Templars in Val Royaux were no less standoffish. The Lord Seeker, a man with a ferret of a face that seemed to be stuck in a permanent scowl, dismissed Cassandra as nothing more than a child seeking validation from the wrong adult. The man gave Gwaedhiel a scathing stare, claiming that she could not possibly be a herald to Andraste, and while Gwaedhiel believed him she knew that exclaiming so would cause many people to loose faith in the Inquisition, and the young organisation would crumble into dust and be remembered as nothing more than a bunch of outcasts led by a delusional Dalish elf. 

She was both praised and ridiculed; no elf could be Andraste's Herald, it's brave for someone such as herself to stand up for something she does not believe in.

She just wanted to go home. 

She eventually got her wish, trailing a city elf that took no greater pleasure than throwing pies at nobles as they passed them on the road, the Chantry sister Mother Giselle who was much kinder and quieter than Gwaedhiel first thought, and a circle Mage with magic colder than moonless nights at First Day. 

Her arrival back in Haven was greeted by a summon to the war room. A rather small argument ensued in which Gwaedhiel butted heads with the Commander over whether or not the mages were a better investment than the Templars.   
Truthfully, Gwaedhiel could not care less about who was better suited to seal the breach. She did not believe that mages who's magic was constantly suppressed by the hostility of Templars was stable enough to do the job, but she certainly did not want the Templars help. 

It was Josephine who calmed matters with a few simple words and a sheet of rolled parchment. Gwaedhiel would recognise the thin, slanting letters anywhere. Deshanna was always kind to her, taking her under her wing and welcoming her into the clan as easily as a new born halla. The letter was a welcome relief, boiling just under her skin was the fear that maybe her clan had been targeted, hunted. To have proof that her clan was still alive, maybe not thriving--and in need of help--but alive, set her rapidly beating heart back into a slower rhythm, she could breathe normally once again. 

”Clan Lavellan, your clan, has expressed need of assistance, as well as correspondence from the Herald." Josephine explained. 

”Bandits have been seen skulking around the area where the clan is camped." Leliana added. She looked towards Gwaedhiel, without moving her head. Gwaedhiel could feel her gaze, but did not meet it. Instead she stared intently at the letters, flipping between the request for correspondence, and the plea for help. 

”Could I suggest sending a force to protect the clan." The Commander was looking at the map of Thedas spread out across the table. 

Gwaedhiel looked at him, her eyes narrowed as she tried to gauge _why_ he would suggest sending a force of soldiers. A small groups of spies, sure they could get the job done before anyone even knew they were there, but a group of soldiers would draw attention to the Inquisition, which was another thing Gwaedhiel did not want happening. 

”I do not think soldiers are necessary, Commander." She said carefully, watching him from the corner of her eye. 

Her sentence made him look up, and hazel eyes met gold and something flashed across her gaze. He held her gaze as he continued to talk, detailing the benefits of sending soldiers, of the protection they could provide her clan and the strength they could then lend the Inquisition. 

Gwaedhiel bristled at that. ”Excuse me, Commander?" 

The man stopped mid-sentence, looking at Gwaedhiel with confusion and maybe a little fear. He was unsure whether or not she was about to raise her voice. ”Herald?" He questioned gently. 

”I may be involved with the Inquisition, but that is because you _need_ me. I refuse to allow my clan to become involved." 

”But Herald, your clan needs help." Josephine pushed. ”Cullen has a point; with the Inquisition's protection, your clan can help further our influence." 

”While that _may_ be a good idea, I really don't want my children becoming bigger targets than they already are." Gwaedhiel exclaimed. 

The room went silent. Each advisor watched Gwaedhiel with mixed expressions of concern and surprise. She had told no one of her children, wanting to keep them secret in the hopes they would be allowed to live in peace. That was clearly not the case. Which provided even more reason for Gwaedhiel to agree to Leliana sending spies to dispose of the bandits in a quiet fashion and draw the attention away from the clan. 

The spies set out before the sun had begun to sink. 

 

\-------

 

Varric didn't pretend to observe the goings on around him, especially when it came to the inner workings of the Inquisition's leaders, he shamelessly took note of any interesting habit anyone had. The fact he traveled with the Herald often gave him countless opportunities to further twist a story, find a flaw and exploit it. 

His favourite place to take notes, however, is Haven. Filled with so many different people and beliefs, he couldn't dream up a collection of individuals with such different views on the world they've been born in. 

There was the Qunari and his gang, loud, and bellowing, but living by the beliefs of the Qun. The elven apostate who spoke like he was from another time and kept mostly to himself, wandering the town as often as Andraste's Herald herself, only his wanderings seemed object orientated while the Herald just walked because she could.   
Sera was an interesting character. As soon as she connected the dots and figured out he was the one who wrote Hard in Hightown she had not left him alone, telling him different stories that he could potentially use, granted some he would most certainly use, but they weren't anything book-worthy. Just tales of pranks.   
Vivienne kept mostly to herself within the warm walls of the Chantry, offering her expertise whenever it was warranted. She and Josephine got along like a house on fire, one woman was often accompanied by the other. What they spoke about Varric had no idea. 

Gwaedhiel was the person who intrigued Varric the most. She seemed to make friends quickly, but held them at arms length; almost like she did not allow herself any close relations with anyone. The only person she actively spoke too was Varric himself. 

”Nightingale has been busy this morning." He remarked. 

”Mmhmm." Gwaedhiel responded. 

”Curly didn't seem too impressed about your decision." 

”The Commander isn't happy with me. I didn't mean to upset him, but sending soldiers just to dispose of a few bandits seems pointless and just a reckless show of force." 

Varric contemplated her words and could see her point. The Dalish woman continued to surprise him, she knew a lot about leading others, about which options were safest, and those to steer clear of. Her compassion knew no bounds either. More often than not Varric found her helping Dennet with the horses, or Adan with his experiments. She forged her own blade for her staff, an intricate thing that twisted around the bottom of the hilt and ended in a foot-long gaping maw of a wolf, it was vicious and he'd seen her point it in the face of her enemies, threatening them in the Dread Wolf's name. 

”He'll see your choice was better. You'll see." Varric assured. 

”I do hope so. I do not wish to be on his bad side for something so simple." 

 

\-------

 

Gwaedhiel was not expecting the Commander to come to her. She was in her assigned cabin tying small lengths of twine around the stems of blood lotus stalks and elfroot leaves, hanging them upside down near the fire so they'd dry.   
The previously dried herbs were taken down and ground with a mortar and pestle she always carried on her hip, their final destination varied. Either they went into potions, or into mesh bags of tea, or she added a small amount of fresh leaves and turned them into a paste she then burnt. The smells of the oils relaxed her and reminded her of home. 

She was disturbed by the knock at the door and the following call of "Herald?" She froze with a ceramic cup of crystal grace tea in her hands, rather perplexed. The only people to come to her cabin were messengers and people she had previously invited. To hear Cullen's voice from behind her door caught her off guard. 

Nevertheless she let him and offered him a cup of tea. When he declined with a complaint of disliking the taste of tea she shrugged and held her handle-less cup in her hands, blowing the gently rising steam from the liquid's surface. 

”I feel I must apologise." 

She wasn't expecting that. She blinked owlishly once before putting her tea down and shaking her head, "No, Commander, I think _I_ should be the one apologising. I did not want to listen to your plans and opinions. I simply wanted the threat of the bandits over and done with so I could put it out of my mind." 

”You have your clans best interests at heart, Herald. It is only natural that you want things disposed of quickly to avoid them coming within harms way." 

Gwaedhiel nodded, understanding passed between them and she apologised once more. While spies and assassins were good, a show of force would prove to others that the Lavellan clan was not to the touched unless the parties responsible were to face the anger of the Inquisition. 

Cullen remained in her cabin for some time afterwards, they spoke at length about her training and efficiency and she detailed the symbolism she attached to her staff by twirling it around and showing him the lupine blade. Fen'Harel, Bringer of Nightmares, it seemed was the perfect candidate for the lethal weapon. Cullen just hoped it stayed at that, and did not become the betrayer. 

He changed the subject to include her clan. Gwaedhiel immediately brightened at his questions, answering each one with delight. She told him of Keeper Deshanna, how kind she was, and how wise. Teaching Gwaedhiel everything she knew about the Dalish, as well as which herbs were safe and which would silence in the blink of an eye.   
The children of the clan varied in age, she told him. The oldest being almost of marriage age, and the youngest having been born just days before she left for the Conclave. Her oldest child had just received his vallaslin; Ghilan’nain, after his chosen chore of caring for the clan's halla. It did not come to a surprise when Deshanna foretold the heard would flourish under his care.   
Gwaedhiel's second child, her youngest, followed in her brother's footsteps as often as she could, but Gwaedhiel had a feeling that Falon'din was her chosen god. 

They spoke well into the evening, when Cassandra came to find the Commander and discuss the next days training regime they parted, both feeling better about the ordeal that had passed between them. He excused himself with a salute and a curt now of his head before heading out into the suddenly swirling snow, closing the door swiftly behind him to avoid any snow or strong wind invading the warmth of her cabin. 

Her tea lay forgotten and cold.


	2. Chapter 2

Standing on the landing, his face turned to the assaulting symbol of the flaming sword hanging from the wall, Cullen contemplated why the tapestry was still hanging. The Inquisitor had no soft spot for Templars, yet she still agreed that their abilities were best suited to help close the breach. Maybe she had done it to shut him up, or maybe she had done it to avoid fighting any mages. Whatever her reasons, Cullen was still unsure why she would not talk to him about it. 

She had locked herself away in her quarters for three days, opening the door for no one other than Josephine, Varric, and Dorian. Their newest addition was peculiar in his motives, claiming to have none he followed the Inquisitor wherever she was needed, providing conversation, advice, and complaints about the cold. 

Dorian was not the only person who knew the entire story about what happened at Therinfall Redoubt. A demon boy had guided her, found her and comforted her, and he followed her back to Haven, and then on to Skyhold. Cullen could never find him though, never when he wanted information. The boy always appeared when things seemed most random, large brimmed hat and scraggly hair obscuring his blue eyes as he stared at nothing in particular and said whatever was on his mind, or the mind of the person he was reading. 

It unnerved Cullen, but there was nothing he could do. Gwaedhiel said he could stay, and he was not going to try and convince her other wise. 

Turning from the red and black image hanging like an omen from the ceiling, Cullen clutched the correspondence letters in his hand and climbed the stairs to the door leading to the Inquisitor's quarters. He hoped this time that she would be willing to at least open the door for him, to let him see that she was okay. He knocked thrice and waited. 

Gwaedhiel had a way with moving about. Even while wearing heavy chain mail and layers of leather and cloth, she walked silently. Cullen was convinced that, if she so wished it, she would not leave a print in freshly fallen snow. It was this skill that caused Cullen to jump slightly when the heavy wooden door sudden flew open on loudly protesting hinges.   
The Inquisitor stood in front of him, wearing a light tunic and long pants, feet utterly bare, and dark, dark red hair let free of its usual tight braids. Tight curls replaced the braids, they reminded Cullen of a pile of feathers; light, and not held entirely by gravity. With the curls free, her hair reached mid-back, yet her pointed ears could still be seen. 

”Commander?" She asked, perplexed as to his appearance. ”I thought you were that serving girl, Minnervv." 

”N-no, Inquisitor." Cullen started, oddly uncomfortable suddenly. ”I have letters from Rylen here," he indicated to the rolls of parchment in his hand, "the spies' results have returned." 

Gwaedhiel's face lit up and she made to grab the scrolls hastily before she stopped herself. ”Ah...won't you come in, Commander?" 

At the invitation Cullen balked. Sure he was used to people coming and going through his room, it doubled as his office after all, but this was the Inquisitor's rooms. Her personal space, into which he invites only selected people. Cassandra had not yet been invited, and Gwaedhiel invites Cassandra to everything. 

He nodded slowly, and before he could change his mind Gwaedhiel has spun on her heel and walked back up another set of stairs. She didn't make a sound. Cullen stepped into the room and tried to close the door gently, but the heavy wood slipped out of his hand and slammed back into the frame with a jarring thud that rattled the hinges and sent lances of pain spiking behind his eyes.   
He had been dealing with a headache since arriving at Skyhold almost a week ago. It started with Varric announcing that Hawke was joining them, then progressed as Cassandra came to him about complaints regarding the dwarf and his secretive ways. Cullen, rather mortified to discover the Champion of Kirkwall was coming to Skyhold, was not interested in her petty fight, but he could not shake the feeling that Kalinda Hawke was going to recognise him, and thus make his life a living hell. 

The stress and, pointless, fear were what worsened the headache, but he pushed through. 

He must have slipped on a groan or a wince for when he reached the top of the stairs he found Gwaedhiel watching him with concern. She stood near the fire, a small, waist-high wooden rack filled with drying herbs sat near the mountain-side balcony doors, which were open. Despite that, the room was cosy and warm. A large, four poster bed took up most of the space, the thin white curtains were pulled back on one side, the rest left to close, giving the bed a measure of privacy, despite how transparent the cloth was. 

She wrung her hands in front of her, unsure whether or not to say something. When Cullen cleared his throat she shook herself slightly and motioned to the couch against the railing of the landing. Cullen followed her gaze, his body continuing behind it till he placed himself gently on the couch and held out the scrolls to Gwaedhiel.   
She took them with a quiet thank you and pulled the chair of her desk out and sat down so her body was angled towards Cullen, but she was still close enough to the desk to use its surface as an extra arm rest. 

While she read the reports and letters Cullen took the time to focus on his hands. He was pulled back to her attention when she sighed and placed the scrolls down on the desk, scrubbing her palms down her face. 

”Is everything alright?" He asked. 

Gwaedhiel huffed a laugh and nodded. She withdrew her hands from her face and nodded again. ”Yes. My clan is safe. Leliana's scouts will be coming home soon." 

Cullen was glad to hear it, of course he already knew. He, Josephine, and Leliana were Gwaedhiel's primary message handlers, receiving reports and passing them on to her once things were read. It helped keep the Inquisitor's advisers up to date without calling a war summons every time a small correspondence returned. 

But there was still one thing on Cullen's mind. ”Inquisitor, what happened at Therinfall?" 

Gwaedhiel sighed. ”I wrote it down in my report, Commander. I thought you read it." 

He had, but he could not bring himself to believe it. The Inquisitor trapped inside her own head by a demon of envy, left to fend for herself as the monstrosity fought against her mental walls in a determined, but ultimately vain, attempt to become her. As it had become Lord Seeker Lucius.   
A demon of compassion being her only hope of avoiding possession. The demon was no more than a boy, young and inexperienced in her eyes, but potentially wiser than even Solas. The first thing Gwaedhiel had done when the demon was defeated and her return to Haven with the Templars in tow had been to find her advisors and hold each of them as tight as her blood-soaked armour would allow. 

For the next while Gwaedhiel repeated what she had written in her report, detailing the infiltration of the fort, her choice to put the people first and the Order last, and the end result with a demon dead and the Templars under their wing. 

Cullen opened his mouth to speak but found he had no words to give. Instead a stab of pain behind his eyes caused him to rub his index finger and thumb over his eyes in an attempt to massage the pain away without drawing attention to it. 

"Do you get head pain, Commander?" Gwaedhiel enquired. 

Well. It didn't work. He found no point in lying so he nodded. The elf rose with the slight rustle of her clothes and walked to a table beside the bed. On top on which sat a medium-sized box and a ceramic plate with a mysterious liquid lying within and a long, thin dowel of wood, the end of which was charred and still smoking slightly.   
Cullen understood that it must be the origin of the calming smell of the room. Sweet, like crystal grace, yet the air held a slight, spiced tang. Spindleweed perhaps? It did not matter, for Gwaedhiel returned to him with a small vial no bigger than his thumb and filled with a greenish oil, within swirled bits of crushed leaves, and a handful of about seven dowel rods

She pressed the items into his hand with instructions to find a shallow dish and pour a small amount of liquid onto the plate and light the dry end of the stick. The subsequent smell would help to calm his headaches. 

Cullen felt moved at the kind gesture, and thus did not tell her that his headaches weren't of medical origin, but brought about of his own accord. He knew exactly how to rid himself of them, but had no desire to trek that road again. He excused himself with a curt nod and a thank you. 

 

\--------

 

The ride to Skyhold from Crestwood was, needless to say, an uncomfortable one for Dorian, Gwaedhiel, and Varric. The entire trip was filled with Cassandra's endless demand for answers from the rouge. Why didn't he tell her where Hawke was? Why did he lie to her? Where had Hawke gone after Kirkwall? Why had she chosen _now_ to reappear. 

”If she hadn't, Seeker, we would be at a complete disadvantage. After all, Hawke did fight Corypheous."

”Fought and killed him." The woman in question retorted with a harsh edge to her tone. Kalinda Hawke was a burly woman with long ginger hair and freckles. Her gauntlets reminded Gwaedhiel of dragon talons, perhaps that's what the other Mage was aiming for, but while Gwaedhiel fought with an ornate staff; used for decoration as well as killing, Hawke used a simple staff, sturdy and easily wielded. 

”Didn't do a very good job." Gwaedhiel spoke from the front of their procession. 

”I resent that statement." Hawke complained, her voice easily carrying above the wind. 

Their journey was filled with most of the same bickering. The only member of their party that didn't say much was the warden Hawke had dragged them all to Crestwood to find. Crestwood had put everyone in a bad mood, but Alistair Theirin most of all. Upon enquiry he responded with a shrug and "she told me she'd be there." 

_She_ being the Hero of Ferelden. 

As much as she wanted to, Gwaedhiel did not push the matter. She knew how it felt to be separated from a loved one, though she was as certain as Alistair that the Hero was still alive, unlike her chosen partner. She pushed that thought away. It had been years, she did not wish to think about it. 

At Skyhold Cassandra abandoned Varric and instead trailed after Hawke, who immediately headed for the Heral'd Rest. Varric took the time to approach the Inquisitor and ask her of their next move, mentioning that the Western Approach was the place Hawke wanted to go.   
Gwaedhiel turned her nose up at that. Having grown up in areas where trees were a most welcomed sight, and meant home, travelling to a desert seemed the worst possibility. All it would need now was a bunch of Venetori. 

 

\----------

 

”The Inquisition's assistance was most welcomed by your clan, your worship." Josephine explained, wanting to be the first to speak at the council meeting. 

The Inquisition's leaders stood around the war table, unlike in Haven they stood two to a side, Gwaedhiel and Josephine on the side closest to the door, Cullen and Leliana standing with the light from the windows turning their bodies into silhouettes. So Gwaedhiel kept her attention on the map spread across the table. 

The meeting progressed as they always did; starting with thanks received from nobles and villages, scouts and soldiers reporting on their latest activity, filled requisition notices handed to Joesphine by Therin, discussions on the progress of restoring the crumbled walls of the great fortress, an offer of marriage from an Orlesian noble that made Gwaedhiel scoff and Leliana laugh. 

Finally things turned to the Western Approach. 

”Hawke and Alistair has expressed, at length, the importance of extending their search to the Western Approach." Leliana began, "Due to the civil war in Orlais, getting a large conduit of troops over there will be hard." 

”We could stagger them, or send a smaller group." Josephine suggested. 

”Thats what I was thinking." Leliana agreed. 

”There is an old Grey Warden fortress residing in the North Western part of the Approach." Cullen explained. He pulled a smaller scroll out from the chest on the table top, unrolled it and weighed the corners down using various bits and pieces left around the table.   
Everyone crowded around the smaller map depicting the entirety of the Western Approach and Hissing Wastes. Cullen pointed to a spot marked on the map with a miniature castle. ”If we could send a small team in and secure the fortress, we could easily establish a presence in Orlais." 

“The furthest reaches of Orlais." Gwaedhiel mumbled, which caused a small, suppressed laugh to come from the Commander, which he wrote off as clearing his throat by forefully clearing his through the a little harder than need be. When he spoke again his voice was slightly strained, causing him to clear his throat once more. 

”Then we can send our forces through." He finished. 

”I want to see my clan." Gwaedhiel said suddenly. 

Her advisors fell silent and looked at her surprised. Slowly Cullen's eyes slid to look at Josephine standing beside the Inquisitor. Josephine avoided his gaze and instead turned her's on Leliana who sighed, exasperated, and addressed the Inquisitor herself. 

”That may not be wise to our plans." She advised. 

”Why not?" Gwaedhiel demanded. 

Her advisors straightened before talking. Josephine spoke first; "It won't be wise to send the Inquisitor on her own." 

”Then let me bring a party. Cassandra and Dorian can do as good a job as Rylen and his men." 

”That may be, but the delay would certainly cause a knot in our plans, and Cassandra is needed to accompany the forces going to take the fortress, her skills are invaluable."

”Send Rylen and Cassandra in ahead of me, I'll take someone else!" 

”Who?" Leliana pressed. 

Silence fell over the room for a moment, it's presence heavy and pressing in from every corner. Until finally Gwaedhiel pointed to Cullen. ”I'll take him." 

The Commander had begun to inspect his gloved fingernails, finding something obviously more interesting on the material than what was happening in the room, judging by his renewed concentration and the removal of one glove to pick at whatever was bugging him with his fingernails. He pointedly ignored the sudden shift in conversation, wanting nothing more than to be over with it.   
Truthfully, he did not see a downside to letting the Inquisitor see her clan. They are her family after all. Though Josephine was right, her side journey would delay the Inquisition's plans and, subsequently, Hawke and Alistair's plans. 

When the silence dragged on and Cullen had not yet pulled his focus from his immaculate gloves Gwaedhiel practically leapt over the table and snatched the glove from his hand. The surprise on his face was more shock than anything else, the fact she had physically invaded his space and snatched his property from him in order to get his attention left him rather stunned. 

”Well, Commander?" She demanded. 

Cullen looked around the room, suddenly flustered. He cleared his throat; "Uh..okay. I don't see why not." 

With his answer given Gwaedhiel gently threw his glove back to him, which he caught and quickly slipped over his hand in case she tried to snatch it again. 

Josephine and Leliana glared at Cullen. The Commander only shrugged helplessly, unsure of what to say. Gwaedhiel Brough their attention back to the meeting when she took a map marker with a fist holding a curved, spiked weapon in the air and placed it in the forest near Wycome. ”At this time of year my clan would be camped somewhere near here." 

Cullen nodded. Josephine just sighed. 

It was decided that Leliana would accompany Rylen and his men, while Cullen accompanied the Inquisitor. Josephine would work on acquiring means of fast transportation to both the Free Marches and Orlais. Plans were sent into motion within three days.


	3. Chapter 3

It was agreed that it was better for everyone's interests that Rylen's men accompany the Inquisitor to the Storm Coast. There everyone would board a vessel bound for Kirkwall, where the Inquisitor and Commander would travel to where Clan Lavellan resided, while Rylen and Leliana and the men they lead continued on to Val Royaux, and from there they'd march to the Western Approach. 

That was how Cullen found himself clinging to the railing on the quarter deck with a grip so tight his knuckles were white and aching, yet he would not move. The rocking of the ship was made worse by the constant lurching of his stomach.   
Truthfully, it wasn't completely his sea sickness that made him so uneasy on ships. He harboured an intense fear of dying at sea, of being dragged to the depths to die painfully and slowly, drowned under the weight of his armour or the iron hard grip the sinking vessel creates in the water. 

Every time the ship rocked, his fear spiked. 

It seemed he wasn't the only one, the Inquisitor held fast to various items as she vehemently paced the length of the deck, taking the stairs to the quarter deck two at a time, before jumping down them and pacing to the fore deck.   
Her pacing continued well into the night, as did Cullen's vigil. When the horizon finally melted and the sea became indistinguishable from the sky Cullen made his way shakily down to the main deck. Gwaedhiel was still pacing, though not as rigorously as before. Instead she walked as if she was waiting for someone, swinging her hips with each turn of her heel.   
He nodded to her in greeting as he passed, descending below deck. His fear returned and he carefully picked his way to his assigned hammock. Once carefully inside the cloth he stared up at the roof, illuminated by the tired, orange low of the single lamp still lit below deck. 

Just as he began to drift off the creaking of the floorboards jolted him back into the waking world. He leaned up slightly in order to peer over the edge of the fabric, Gwaedhiel had decided to retire for the night too. Her grip on anything stationary was still white knuckled, but as soon as she collapsed into her hammock, one leg dangling over the edge, she seemed to calm. 

Cullen found his nightmares replaced with swimming images of a dark-skinned elf with golden eyes. She beckoned to him, whispering promises that he believed she had every intention to keep. She was surrounded by her family, her clan. Elves off all different heights and ages, yet none but her had a face. Her forever golden eyes were constantly piercing him, reading him, unravelling him. 

The rest of the trip was spent staring at the horizon, avoiding the Inquisitor and her golden gaze. 

 

\---------

 

Kirkwall was exactly as he remembered it, and maybe that was a bad thing. He was most grateful for the Inquisitor's insistence that they press on, make the most of the daylight hours to travel as far as they dared on horse-back before the animals became too tired.   
Of course Gwaedhiel had chosen a sturdy mount in the shape of a hart. The animals enormous antlers framed her body and gave her an almost royalty look. She even rode with her chin up, defying anyone who came near her--especially the Templars.   
Cullen rode a simple Ferelden Forder; sturdy, but tires far quicker than a hart, and thus when the animal tripped over a stone for the third time in five minutes Gwaedhiel agreed they should call it a night. 

Sleeping out in the open was even more unsettling than sleeping in a rocking ship where he could not see the stars. It was one of the many reason he did not wish to get the hole in his roof back at Slyhold fixed.   
The window to the night sky reminded him that he was no longer trapped in Kinloch Hold, that the entire ordeal was over, and that he was safe. The stars told him that his nightmares were only dreams, that they truly could not hurt him in the waking world, and that everything that happened at Kirkwall was in the past. 

Yet, even with the entire night sky above him, he could not settle. There were no walls, nothing to keep something from sneaking up on him. He remembered when he was a boy, he and Branson decided to sleep outside one night. The brothers set up under a tree, and when they fell asleep they were awoken by a growl. Cullen had bolted upright to find a bear at the outskirts of their little clearing, watching them. If he hadn't woken Bran and the pair escaped into the tree, the bear would have devoured them. 

With this thought on his mind, Cullen fought sleep till his exhausted body could no longer take it and he succumbed to sleep. 

It seemed like he slept for only mere minutes, the sound of a stick breaking somewhere to his right woke him and he shot up into a sitting position, apparently having never moved throughout the night, as told by the stiffness in his neck.   
Instead of a bear though, it was the Inquisitor. She was awake and up, dressed in her travel leathers and a warm coat. In her hand she carried a length of rope, tied to both ends were a pair of dead nugs, their pinkish skin pale and lifeless. 

”Good morning, Commander." Gwaedhiel greeted him. She stabbed the blade of her staff into the dirt with such force it buried itself up to the hilt, remaining upright even after she had let it go. She walked over to her hart and lashed the nugs to the back of her saddle. ”It is a wise idea to bring food back to the clan." 

Cullen scrambled to his feet and picked up his bedroll. ”Will we reach them today?" 

”Well after the sun as departed, if we ride to the north swiftly and with little to no stops, we will reach Deshanna's first scouts before Bellitanus is complete." Gwaedhiel explained. She removed Cullen's plate armour from his saddle bags and placed them on the ground near him. Like her, he had simply removed his outer layers to sleep in his under clothes, so buckling his armour into place was the only step he needed to take. 

They were on the road before the first merchant carts left Kirkwall. 

 

\----------

 

The glow in the canopy of the trees was the only hint that the clan was near, the sources of light bobbed and moved with the bodies that carried them. The only hint that they were watching was the sudden, quiet shrill, whistle of an arrow speeding through the air, only to land with a thud in the earth at the feet of Cullen's Forder.

”Ar'din nuvenin na'din!" Came a woman's voice from high in the trees, possibly the source of the arrow. 

”Andaran atish'an, Veela!" Gwaedhiel called back to the voice. 

The canopy was silent for several tense moments, broken only by the slow creak of an elf pulling on a taught bowstring. The noise was close, and Cullen had to refrain from jerking around in the saddle to see where it had come from. 

”Mamae?" 

”Yes, Emma da'len!" 

A joyous shout echoed through the forest and the source of the noise frantically climbed down from her perch, jumping from the last high branch when she could not wait any longer. Gwaedhiel leapt out of the saddle and ran to greet the elf, gathering her up in a tight hug that looked to be crushing the air out of her lungs, yet the girl did not care. 

Cullen remained where he stopped, holding the reins of Gwaedheil's hart so the animal did not bolt. He could hear the pair muttering in Elvish to each other, the term "Da'len" spilling from Gwaedhiel's lips more often than not.   
From the trees above them, other elves arrived, each holding a glowing lantern and a bow. They were dressed in dark cloaks to hide themselves from any enemy that might come lurking. They must have been the scouts Gwaedhiel mentioned. 

Gwaedhiel and the girl eventually broke apart and followed each other back to where Cullen stood. Gwaedhiel helped the girl mount the hart before climbing into the saddle behind her. The girl looked to be at least seventeen years of age, her skin was dark as were her eyes, burnt umber in colour that reflected the light of the lanterns, reminding Cullen of a mountain lion. Gwaedhiel took the reins from Cullen with a thankful smile before tapping the elf on her shoulder. 

”Da'len, this is Commander Cullen Rutherford." She began, she turned to Cullen, "Commander, this is my youngest child, my daughter Veela."

Cullen dipped his head forward in a slight nod, "It is nice to meet the family of the Inquisitor." 

Veela muttered something in Elvish to Gwaedhiel and Cullen was confused to find the Inquisitor's cheeks pinken slightly before she cleared her throat and mumbled an answering phrase to Veela, who laughed. Gwaedhiel spurred the hart into a swift walk, Cullen following behind. She informed him that the clan was not far. 

Turns out he and the Inquisitor had very different knowledge of what "not far" meant. Another hour later, the bright glow from a large campfire illuminated the forest. From their distance, Cullen could see elves milling about around it, some standing, some sitting, there were also deer-like animals variously grazing and walking around the camp, their coats were as white and freshly fallen snow, and their antlers could have rivalled his mother's silver ring.   
Veela struggled to jump down from her position in the saddle without kicking the animal or her mother. Gwaedhiel did not let it phase her, instead playfully shoving her daughter from the saddle so that she had to take an extra three steps to keep her balance. 

They followed her into the camp. 

As soon as Gwaedhiel's form entered the light from the campfire a great cheer erupted from the clan. The Inquisitor wasted no time in jumping from her hart and throwing herself into the throng that had come towards them. Snippets of conversation in common could be heard, the Inquisitor suddenly forgetting how to speak her birth language and the clan accommodating for it.   
The whole scene gave Cullen an air of homesickness as he remembered the letters from Mia lying in the top draw of his desk, the seal on some still unbroken. A louder shout echoed over the noise, drawing Cullen back to the scene before him, and Gwaedhiel immediately made to run towards it. 

Standing a little further back from the rest of the clan was an older woman, her silver hair pulled back into tight braids down her back. She bore an air of respect, and when Gwaedhiel neared her she paused, and waited for the woman to approach her.   
When she did the elf placed the palm of her hand over Gwaedhiel's heart before pulling her into a warm embrace. It was not long until Cullen found himself among the crowd, names and faces flying passed him as he struggled to remember each person. 

Finally he reached Gwaedhiel, who took his hand and placed it in that of the other woman. ”Deshanna Istimaethorial, this is Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition." The older elf looked at Cullen with narrowed eyes, sizing him up before Gwaedhiel spoke again, "Cullen, this is my Keeper; Deshanna Istimaethorial." 

Cullen bowed in greeting, this time he said nothing in fear of offending the older Dalish woman. Instead it was she who spoke; "Why must you bring a shemlen into the clan, da'len?" 

”Commander Cullen is to be my escort, for when I am finished here we will travel to the deserts in Orlais." Gwaedhiel explained. 

”Finished, da'len? You do not wish to stay?" 

”Abelas, Keeper, but I cannot. I can wish it with all my heart, but the Inquisition needs me." 

Deshanna was silent for quite some time, making both Cullen and Gwaedhiel shuffle uncomfortably. Finally Gwaedhiel could not take the silence; "Where is Da?" 

”Da is perusing a woman from another clan." Deshanna explained, with a little distain. ”While I do not approve of his choice, she will make a fine addition to clan Lavellan." 

”If I may be so bold," Cullen began, "But who is Da?"

”My son." Gwaedhiel explained, "Clan's second after me, he has lived to see two-hundred and sixteen turns of the moon. He can do what he wishes now, so long has be returns home to his clan."

”As is your duty as well, da'len." Deshanna addressed Gwaedhiel again. ”A clan's First must put the clan before all others." 

”I do, Keeper." Gwaedhiel expressed, "I do." 

”Aye, da'len, you do. But it does not mean I have to like your absence." With that Deshanna turned from the Inquisitor and Commander and returned to the fire. 

Left in the sudden silence caused by her departure, Gwaedhiel did not know what to say to Cullen. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth, but no words came. Eventually it was Cullen who spoke for her; "I'm sorry, Inquisitor." 

His apology took her off guard, she whipped around to face him. ”There is no need for apologetics, Commander. Not from you." 

”It is clear your clan cares for you, I am an intruder in their midst." 

”No. You are here as my guest. The clan will treat you as such." Gwaedhiel reassured, she turned from him, intent on going back towards the now dispersing crowd, she placed a hand on his shoulder and graced him with a light smile before leaving him standing before the fire. 

At a loss for what to do, Cullen found a chair near the fire and sat down, content to just watch the goings on around him.   
Many of the clan were adults with bows and knives. Only a select few carried swords and axes intended for battle, those who did also bore scars from their many victories. One such elf walked in front of where Cullen sat, and Cullen felt his breath catch in his throat when the man looked at him quizzically. 

The entire right side of the elf's face was covered in scars, half his ear had been ripped off; the jagged edge catching the firelight, three heavy scars fell down his face, from his brow to his chin, and continued below the collar of his leather jerkin. The scars cut across his eye, which had become cloudy and white, a stark contrast to his good eye which was a startling green. Despite this, the blind eye still caught and flashed the light of the fire as much as the other.   
Another elf carried a massive battle axe across his back, the double-bladed weapon was truly a thing of beauty and Cullen wondered whether it was possible to commission the blacksmith who crafted it. The weapon shimmered in the firelight, dancing with the ever moving flames as the light illuminated several carved, twisting edges. Like Gwaedhiel's staff, the haft was sturdy and intricately carved. 

Soon Cullen found his gaze sliding to the younger members of the clan. Children who were old enough to hunt on their own, their faces marked with ink of various patterns. Cullen supposed these elves were no longer children, as he recalled a conversation he had partaken of with the Inquisitor. 

_"Tell me of your facial tattoos."_

_”What would you like to know about them?" She asked, moving one of her rooks down the board three squares._

_”Their purpose." Cullen replied._

_Gwaedhiel was silent as she considered her next move. Finally, are flicking her gaze up to look at him, she moved a pawn. The move was sloppy and obvious not much thought had gone into it, but Cullen didn't mind. He moved his next piece and waited for her to reply._

_”Vallaslin. When a Dalish elf turns eighteen, two-hundred and sixteen moon cycles, they must meditate and decide which of the Creators they will pledge their life too. Their meditation may take as little as a day, or as long as a year. I have not known anyone to take as long as a year, but Deshanna has told me of a few.  
"Cries of pain are not tolerated during the ceremony. If one cries out, they are weak and cannot take on the responsibilities of the clan." _

_”What happens to them?" Cullen asked, taking one of her rooks with his remaining knight._

_”They must wait until the Keeper believes they are ready."_

_A few more moves passed between them, Cullen found himself getting boxed in yet he did not let anything show. There was still a way to win this game._

_”So each Dalish elf has different markings for the different gods?"_

_Gwaedhiel nodded, "that is correct."_

_”Who does your vallaslin represent?"_

_”Mythal." The twisting, complex pattern started from Gwaedhiel's chin and cut up through her lip until it reached slightly above the tip of her nose and branched out into several different lines, even curling under her eyes, following the line of her cheekbones. It constantly reminded Cullen of a mask._

_They continued the game in comfortable silence, talking aimlessly about everything and nothing. On more than one occasion Cullen found himself losing and pulled his attention away from Gwaedhiel so he could salvage the game._

He was brought back to the movement in front of him when the Inquisitor walked past with a child no older than two in her arms. The little boy was holding onto her clothes with tightly bunched fists and looking at her in awe. Cullen found he could not look away.   
Truthfully, Gwaedhiel did not strike Cullen as being good with kids. Sure she had her own children, but she would have been warm and motherly to them, and them only. What he was seeing in front of him put those ideas to shame. The children of the clan were more than happy to be near her, and she looked comfortable around them. More so than she was in front of her own Keeper. 

The Clan's aravels were set up on one side of the camp, close enough to the fire to be considered within the camp, but far enough away that they did not take up all the room. Gwaedhiel carried the child in her arms, and lead several others, to their aravels and, with the help of the parents, settled them down for the night. 

Cullen watched as scouts changed shifts, some petting the other on the back as they passed, wishing good nights across the campfire. Some simply heading straight for their aravals or tent, whichever they preferred that night. 

”We have a tent for you." Cullen almost jumped out of his seat at the voice. He whipped his head around to come face to face with Veela. The young elf stifled a laugh and jerked her head towards a small tent between two aravals that looked to have been just set up, for he could not remember seeing it there before. 

”Mamae will be with me and Da in our araval." Veela explained before turning her back to him, bow held loosely in her hand. Sure enough, Gwaedhiel was waiting in front of one of the land ships, as was another elf Cullen had not yet seen. 

The elf was slightly taller than Gwaedhiel, with her golden eyes, but his ears were longer, the lobes bigger. Across his back was a Mage staff, much like Gwaedhiel'd but much less ornate. This must have been Da, Gwaedhiel's oldest child. Her son.   
Once Veela reached them she and Da climbed into the aravel. Gwaedhiel was slower, she looked towards Cullen, her eyes catching the light of the--now dying--fire, she nodded once, slowly, as if thanking him for something. What she was thanking him for he did not know, but he didn't dwell on it as he pushed to his feet just as Gwaedhiel disappeared into the araval, and headed to the tent that was set up for him. Fortunately, the tent was erected close to the Inquisitor's aravel and next to the Keeper's. 

Cullen found sleep eluded him. Eventually he drifted between the plains of sleep and wakefulness, and there he stayed till morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Up with the the sun, preparing the clan to move was something that Gwaedhiel believed she would never grow out of. Unfortunately the clan had no intentions of moving for another few months, Deshanna stating that the area they have chosen was perfectly suited for their needs at the current time.

So that left the Inquisitor awake before the first hard rays of light pierced the canopy, wandering around the camp aimlessly. She took the time to reacquaint herself with everything around her, from the look of the aravals, to the smell of the undergrowth. What she wasn't expecting to see was the Commander, shirtless and sweating as he jogged around the outskirts of the camp.

The camp wasn't small, but it also wasn't large enough to make a man sweat without first running through lengths of the forest. 

Cullen had stains from grass and leaves on his pants and arms, small hairline scratches had bled where he obviously brushed up against a thorn bush, but the momentary stinging pain caused him no grief as he slowed to a stop to catch his breath, standing straight with his hands on his waits, palms turned so his fingers were pushing on his lower back and his thumbs were pointed down towards his front.   
He tipped his head back for a moment and Gwaedhiel's eyes widened as his mop of golden curls shifted in the strengthening light. He ran a hand through his hair and she watched as the curls wrapped around his fingers, latching onto the digits and uncurling as he moved his hand only to spring back when he passed over the locks.   
With a cough and a quick throat clear he disappeared into the tent he had been given. Gwaedhiel shook herself and blinked, confused. She did not want to feel things for her commander, it was unprofessional, immature, and selfish, everything she had ever taught her children to avoid. Yet here she was, thinking about the Commander, thinking about the conversations they had, whether they were about the Inquisition, or about their families and personal interests. 

_"The Chantry failed to control both the Mages and the Templars. The Inquisition can do so much if we only--forgive me," he cut himself off mid-sentence, "I doubt you came her for a lecture."_

_Gwaedhiel found his ramblings endearing. He knew what needed to be done, and he was bursting with ideas. ”No." She agreed, "but if you have one prepared I'd love to hear it."_

_Cullen chuckled deeply, averting her gaze for a moment before looking at her again. ”Another time perhaps."_

_Gwaedhiel would not deny she was disappointed._

She recalled his hesitation at Haven. His reluctance to send her to face Corypheus, whether is was because the people saw her as the figure head for Andraste, a god she did not, nor would ever, believe in, or his own personal reasons, Gwaedhiel was not sure. Yet as she stood her ground against the twisted, blighted figure of a man she could not stop remembering how he had looked at her, what his voice sounded like.   
It was the thought that maybe, just _maybe_ she would see him again, that kept her alive, kept her moving through knees deep snow that eventually turned to loose powder that slid under her feet and sent her sprawling in the snow at the feet of the Commander and Seeker. 

_"You stayed behind." He said, his voice quiet, laced with awe and disbelief. ”You could have--" he stopped and watched her, his hands holding the pommel of his sword tightly as if he wished to reach out but stopped himself.  
"I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. I swear it." He assured her, not taking his eyes from her, not blinking. _

That was when she asked him if he was seeing someone. His response surprised Gwaedhiel. Little to no friends in Kirkwall, the only person to follow him from the city had been Rylen, if one did not include Kalinda Hawke, but her journey took her elsewhere before she eventually caught up with Cullen at Skyhold.   
Family all living in Ferelden, with no knowledge of his whereabouts for nigh on ten years. She had trouble thinking about what that would be like, unable to speak with family for whatever reason he was using. She let the subject drop, but kept the information filed away. 

She was brought back to the present by the reappearance of the Commander. He had donned the under clothes of his usual armour, all but his plate and coat secured. The buckles on his boots were hanging loose, but that was not what needed his attention right now. In his hand he held a small, simple mirror, and in the other was a comb. Carefully he pulled the curls of his hair back, untangling knots and kinks till it resembled his usual, careful, coif. 

She wondered if there was a story behind his determined morning routine. 

She needn't worry, for he lowered the mirror and came to watch her. They stood gazing at each other for a moment before he nodded with a smile and headed back into the tent. At that moment, Da made himself known with a tap to her shoulder. 

”Will you be staying tonight?" He asked, hope in his voice. Despite their age, her children missed her. 

Unfortunately, Gwaedhiel had to force her neck to move, shaking her head. ”No. We have spent too long here already, I am needed in Orlais." 

Da was silent for a while before he sucked in a breath; "Veela and I want to accompany you till the end of the trees." 

Gwaedhiel turned and smiled at her son. She nodded, using actions in leu of words. ”We will be leaving soon." 

As if by cue Cullen approached from behind her, tapping her on the shoulder gently. When she turned to him he was dressed in his full plate armour, complete with fur-lined surcoat. Gwaedhiel had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, the heat in the Free Marches had not yet settled into the day, and she knew that not long after they began the journey to Orlais he would be complaining of the heat. 

Gwaedhiel nodded to him as he held out his arm, linking her arm though his they walked through the camp to where Deshanna was talking with a young elven girl. The girl had flowers braided into her hair and a fistful of more in her hands.   
The Keeper looked up when she noticed the Inquisitor and Commander approaching, she dismissed the young girl and turned her attention to her First, not missing the links arms of the pair. She did not give it much thought, putting it down to nothing but leading the Commander through the camp so he did not step on anyone's feet. 

”Deshanna." Gwaedhiel spoke first but was cut off but the Keeper raising her hand gently. 

”Dareth shiral, dal'en." 

Gwaedhiel inclined her head humbly, and said nothing. Instead she held her palms open towards Deshanna, who lightly placed her palms against Gwaedhiel's. They stood like that for but a moment before the Keeper was pulling Gwaedhiel into a tight embrace. 

Standing behind Gwaedhiel and slightly to the side, Cullen felt suddenly out of place. He shifted on the balls of his heels and tried to look anywhere but at the Inquisitor and her Keeper. He needn't have worried about intrusion, for Deshanna released Gwaedhiel shortly after. She took a step back and kept her hands on Gwaedhiel's shoulders and drew in a deep breath, as if she was forbidding herself to cry. 

”The clan moves closer to Wycome in two moons, da'len." Deshanna informed Gwaedhiel. ”Should you ever need to come home, that is where we'll be." 

”Dareth, Keeper." Gwaedhiel finally spoke, her voice quiet and far away. 

Without any more ceremony the Inquisitor turned from the Keeper, linked arms with Cullen once again, and lead him back to the tent he had slept in. It was now dismantled and packed, strapped to the saddle of his Forder, it's reins held by Veela. Da held the two Halla and Gwaedhiel's hart steady beside her, his staff across his back, accompanied by Gwaedhiel's heavier weapon. 

In silence the group mounted their animals and began the journey to the edge of the forest. 

 

\---------

 

The journey was longer than Cullen expected. With the idle chatter of the Inquisitor and her children as a backdrop, he watched as the trees grew thicker till the light was defused green, saturating everything it touched, but it never went out.   
The conversations of the three elves often shifted from Dalish to Common, giving him the chance to become included, which he did as often as he could. He learnt much about Gwaedhiel and her children, even things about her first partner; the father of Veela and Da. 

_Like her, he had been an apostate. Escaped from a Circle, he met Gwaedhiel with her blade at his throat having fought off several Templars that had tracked her down, trying to bring her back to the Circle she had fled.  
It took a few months for them to warm up to each other, working together because it was safer and easier than travelling alone. Da was born in the middle of winter in a cave near the cliffs of Kirkwall, Gwaedhiel had been scared and alone, her partner having left to gather herbs to calm her. When he returned she deposited the bundle of babe in his arms. _

_It was not long after that day that the pair decided it was safer for them in a clan. Clan Lavellan was not an easy find, nor was Deshanna willing to invite a city elf, a Dalish from a dead clan--both apostates--and a babe barely three months old, but after a period of careful relenting, she welcomed them into the clan with open arms._

_A year later Veela was born. Fëanáro didn't live to see her first birthday._

_Taken by surprise while trying to trade with a group of shemlen, he had lashed out with magic, unaware that five of the traders were Templars. His body was left on the trail, cleaved in two._

“Venavis." Gwaedhiel commanded suddenly, gently. She cleared her throat and swiped at her eyes quickly, "Let us talk of something else." 

They made small talk for the rest of the journey. 

Once the sun had descended and the land was bathed in darkness, Cullen pulled the reins of his Forder, urging the animal to stop. The others stopped a moment after, as if they did not expect him to halt. They turned, each of their eyes reflecting light as easily as if the source was right in front of them. 

”What is the matter, Commander?" Veela asked. 

”Forgive me, but I can't see." Cullen explained. 

Veela's eyes flicked to Gwaedhiel, her head not moving. Gwaedhiel did the same. It was unnerving for Cullen to witness, almost as if orbs of light or spirits were hovering in front of him. 

”We cannot stop." Gwaedhiel reminded him, "Already we have spent too long here. Leliana and Rylen will need our support." 

”I know, Inquisitor." Cullen pushed, trying not to let annoyance lace his voice. He heard--and saw--Gwaedhiel angle her hart back to him till she was side by side with him. 

"May I?" 

Cullen merely nodded, unsure of what she was about to do. 

Gently, the Inquisitor leaned across and took the reins from his hands and held them in one of her own. With a slight nudge and a sound made from her teeth and lips, they were moving again, Gwaedhiel leading Cullen's mount through the darkened forest. He was grateful for the help, even more so when he realised he had a chance to sleep in the saddle. Not the best place to sleep, but with the nightmares he was not opposed to taking quick naps when he could. 

He woke again when they stopped. The sun had not risen yet, but the trees had receded. Standing in front of him, reins of her hart and his horse in her hands was Gwaedhiel, her arms around both of her children in a tight embrace that made Cullen's heart ache. 

The embrace didn't last long, or it seemed it didn't to him--he did not know how long he had been asleep for--as Gwaedhiel pulled away she whispered something to Veela and Da before they mounted their Halla. They disappeared back into the forest without making a sound. It was as if they were never there. 

The Inquisitor and Commander continued. 

 

\--------

 

They reached Val Royaux in a week, having to wait till a vessel became available for their use. Their previously made plans had become moot when correspondence from Josephine had reached Gwaedhiel via Baron Plucky informing them of a sudden pirate attack, leaving them without a ship. 

Cullen had suggested just taking the inland route, but with no Inquisiton outposts established in Orlais, they'd have to take frequent rests in order to give their animals the chance to sleep. Waiting for the ship was, by that virtue, faster. 

One of Leliana's scouts were waiting in Val Royaux, along with The Chargers; their chief having gone ahead with Rylen and Leliana. Gwaedhiel was grateful for the welcome party, but knew they could not tarry. The ride from Val Rouaux took less than three days.

 

\-------

 

The Western Approach was as desolate as Gwaedhiel anticipated. Before even arriving at the forward camp, she had sand in places she rather wished there wasn't. Every time she clenched her jaw, the gritty texture of sand would crack over her teeth, and despite the heat, the need to keep themselves covered with mail and scarves far outweighed their need to be cool.   
She took as many opportunities to sit in the shade as possible, only ever retiring to a stuffy tent at nightfall. It was a loud, celebratory accomplishment when she successfully infiltrated Griffon Wing Keep, using the rotting old bucket rope from the central well to climb directly into the keep while Rylen's men kept the other Venetori busy by creating a pointless ruckus against the walls. 

Ale and mead flowed generously, liberated from the Venetori stocks as Gwaedhiel shared her plundered loot with people she thought could use it. Krem received another chain mail hauberk--after the blood had been washed out--while the Iron Bull was gifted a reinforced battle axe. He promptly begged the Inquisitor to fight the High Dragon they had witness flying over the Wastes. She said no.   
Gwaedhiel found a copy of a small novel about a young woman running from an arranged marriage. She threw it onto a junk pile, oblivious to the hands that quickly snatched it up. Varric used bits and pieces to further create modifications for his crossbow, while Dorian and Gwaedhiel poured over the Venetori magic tomes, learning as much as they could about them. 

Of course, things couldn't stay that way forever. Just two days after the initial settling in, Rylen was appointed first in command, and Hawke came to collect the Inquisitor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time as I'm trying to get my flow back.

The Grey Warden ritual tower was crawling with demons, the smell in the air sulphuric and stomach churning. Holding a kerchief against one's nose would do nothing but moisten the smell and make it permeate the hairs inside the nose, leaving an unpleasant taste and a semi-permanent smell.   
Though Gwaedhiel was convinced the smell had already soaked into her gear. She was weary as they climbed the stairs, every nerve and hair on the back of her neck prickling and standing erect, alert for the slightest change in the breeze that had begun to pick up, heralding the arrival of a storm that was still a few hours off. 

Her group consisted of Hawke and Alistair, Cassandra; who continued to walk as close to the Champion as she possibly could, Dorian--complaining about the smell and the sand and the heat the entire time, and Cole. 

The spirit boy gave many people in the Inquisition an uneasy feeling, but his presence settled Gwaedhiel in an oddly eerie way. His ability to read someone's pain always spurred her into action, making sure people were well cared for and as comfortable as she could make them.   
Today, however, she thought that maybe it was best if she had left Cole outside the spire with the Commander and Bull, where she couldn't see his face slackening and growing ever paler till it acquired a slight sickly green tinge as the spirit kept everything he was feeling to himself. 

The source of his obvious discomfort became clear when they reached the top of the tower and entered an open chamber. Once, the ritual tower must have been an impressive structure but now, however, it was crumbling and decrepit. A crippled reminder of things forgotten. Only two of the original four walls remained standing, makeshift barricades and railings had been set in place to prevent anyone from tumbling over the edge and down to the hard sand below, or worse--straight into the bottomless pit off the edge of the Approach. 

To Gwaedhiel, the appearance of the tower meant nothing to her, only what lay within. Erimond and a motley band of Wardens crowded the space, the air was thick with the smell of blood and Gwaedhiel had to stop herself from gagging as she watched a smaller man's body drop to the floor, his pitiful pleas for his life cut short by superiors who either did not care, or their beliefs had become so twisted that they believed with every fibre of their being that they were doing what was right. 

The death was unnecessary and careless. 

Gwaedhiel would never get used to the sight of demons, not after Envy. The very memory of that twisted, grotesque, expanse of pale skin and blood-red, dripping gums, made her skin crawl and she wanted to retreat deep within herself.   
These demons were nothing like Envy, but their determination was doubled through their binding. Feeding off the emotions of the Warden's with which they were bound gave them a bigger edge than that of a demon whom had simply fallen out of a rift because they were in the right place at the right time. No, these demons had clearer intentions, and those intentions were to kill her. 

Pinned under the body of a Warden she had slain, she struggled to push the much bigger, much heavier man off her so she could resume the fight. She was exhausted and devoid of Lyrium potions, on the other side of the tower, Dorian continued to lash out at anything that came near him, hot balls of fire lancing from his staff and hand, curling around their companions and landing square on his targets chest, catching their rags and clothes alight.   
Several times a Scare was necessary to send the bulk of the Warden's into a frenzy in the hopes it would confuse their demons. It worked, for a time, until Dorian became increasingly tired and, like her, began to struggle. 

Cassandra fought tooth and nail against two shades, dispatching them easily before moving towards the rage demon who was now advancing on Hawke. Gwaedhiel had lost sight of Cole and Alistair when the man's body fell against her. 

With an almighty heave and drawn out groan, she threw the body off her and scrambled to her feet, searching about wildly for her staff. Panic gripped her heart when she could not find it, tears threatening to fall. That staff was the last thing of Fëanáro she had left.   
Her time dwindling, Gwaedhiel gave up on the search for the time being and summoned the last of her strength to bring fourth the magical blade Vivienne had begun to teach her to use. She knew how to fight with a sword, had often done so when Templars threatened her and overrun her sensors with that of their own to better control her, but never had she ever used an enchanted blade that appeared at her will. 

The sword was modelled after a Longsword, only the design was more streamlined and built to please the eye. The cross guard extended on one side of the blade, but was lacking on the other, giving the appearance that the hilt and the blade were one and the same. Once the sword was brought fourth, it adopted a solid appearance, to the untrained eye it was nothing more than a sword, but to enchanters and mages, it was a spirit blade. 

Becoming accustomed to the blade was something that required great practice and time, one of which Gwaedhiel did not have, so for now she resorted to just swinging the blade in the direction of the rage demon, succeeding in burying the sword into what would have been the shoulder of a man. The blade sunk down several inches before it stopped and became lodged. Try as she might, it held fast. 

Uttering a curse in Dalish she released the hilt and the sword evaporated. Unfortunately the sudden and unexpected blow caused the rage demon to turn towards her, growling viciously. The heat from its body radiated out like fire from a forge, only twice as intense. It was with the sudden lurch of her heart that Gwaedhiel realised that she was very likely going to die right there. 

In the span of seconds she uttered prayers to the Creators, prayers to keep her children safe and her on their minds. 

She needn't have worried. 

For at that moment a mighty cry sounded from behind the demon and the tip of a sword suddenly sprouted from the demon's chest. It's hot, yellow, eyes bulged before exploding outwards, instantly evaporating into smoke.   
The rest of the body pitched forward and Gwaedhiel had to roll to the side to avoid it, jarring her shoulder as her exhaustion made the roll clumsy. The body hit the floor with a solid _whump_ before it disintegrated into green flecks and evaporated into the air, returning to the fade. 

Standing behind where the rage demon had been was Cullen. 

Gwaedhiel reached an arm up, mouth open forming words but non escaped her lips as her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she pitched backwards, narrowly missing an ironbound chest by mere millimetres. 

 

\------------

 

She awoke in the Commander's arms as he carried her to the infirmary of Griffon Wing Keep with a sudden bout of hacking coughs, followed by almost throwing up. She refrained just barely as he stopped walking, ceasing his movements so she could get her bearings back. 

Once recovered she forced sound passed her lips in something that sounded to her like "What happened?" but was more likely to be nothing but a husking grunt. 

Whatever emerged, Cullen seemed to understand. ”You fainted. Cole managed to catch you but the boy can hardly hold his own weight, let alone yours." 

”You calling me fat, Commander?" Her tone was amused, teasing. 

”On the contrary. I'm admiring your dutiful attentiveness to your nutrition."

Gwaedhiel snorted a laugh as he placed her gently on a cot in the infirmary. She had a quick look around, Dorian was sitting in a chair, his head in one hand and a tonic in the other, Cassandra had a few bleeding scrapes on her face and forearms that a healer was washing out, and a small collection of troops either sat or lay on cots, their wounds and injuries varied in intensity throughout the room. 

A healer quickly came over and proceeded to check Gwaedhiel for the extent of her injuries, even going so far as to try and strip the Inquisitor of her armour herself. When Gwaedhiel made a disgruntled noise and waved the healer away with a few, annoyed hand gestures, she stood and began to pull her armour off.   
The padding beneath the mail was soaked with sweat and blood and gave off a pungent smell of desperation. She wrinkled her nose and draped the mail over the footboard of the cot, then she reached behind her head to pull off the tunic. 

Cullen cleared his throat rather quickly and made to leave, but Gwaedhiel's hand on his forearm stopped him. 

”Just a moment, I'm going to need someone to take these to get them washed." She explained. 

His cheeks darkened and he averted his gaze as she pulled the tunic completely off. Holding out his arm he heard the sound of her mail hauberk being moved before he felt the weight of the mail and the tunic being draped over his arm, as well as a pair of leather breeches. 

He stood as still as he could. 

A laugh came from the side of him, "Not to worry, Commander, I still have my smalls on."

Trying not to think about the Inquisitor in her small clothes he departed, her clothes on his arm, and made his way down to the water troughs where they now stored clean water, since the bodies in the well would cause plague among the ranks. 

With calming determination, Cullen set about scrubbing the Inquisitor's clothes clean. 

 

\--------

 

”It ain't right, a man doing laundry." 

”The Commander much less. He should have gotten someone else to do it." 

“Enjoy your little chore, Curly?" 

”I don't know what you're talking about." 

”Leave him be, my dear, but I'm sure with time he'll remember what it is you speak of." 

”Don't say a word, Tethras." 

 

\---------

 

Gwaedhiel was in the infirmary for a day and a half, the first day was to ensure all her wounds were cleaned and bound, of which there were many. It surprised her how many cuts adorned her body, most from flying debris that she and Dorian had forced into action by lobbing too many fireballs at a wall or, in her case, paralysing anything that came within five feet of her. 

She hissed as a healer applied a spicy smelling poultice to a burn on her neck that crawled up under her chin, leaving patchy marks on her skin. The burns weren't bad, but they would scar--much to her disappointment. 

She should have studied healing magic more than lightning. 

She spent the entire first day being poked and prodded, handed tonic after tonic to numb the pain. It became increasingly clear that Griffon Wing needed a few Mage healers.   
The sister's were good, but they knew little of keeping a patient comfortable, as proven when a young woman who looked no older than Veela pressed against a blossoming bruise on Gwaedhiel's back a little too hard, making her hiss in more annoyance than pain and flinch away. 

Eventually Gwaedhiel ordered them away, she was tired and wanted to sleep. The healers left her and attended to others, one of which was still Dorian. Like her, the excessive use of magic had worn him down to the point he needed several Lyrium droughts to bring him to a point of sitting without looking like he was going to fall on his face.   
Once he noticed the lack of healers milling around Gwaedhiel he pushed himself to his feet and shuffled over, using anything he could hold as a support. He slammed down on her cot, making the bed squeal in protest, with a loud drawn out sigh. 

”Tired?"

”No, Inquisitor, I simply want to make as much noise as possible." He responded. 

”You're doing a mighty fine job of it, Pavus." Gwaedhiel jibbed. 

”I think you should join me, it might liven up the sour mood clouding everyone this fine day." 

”Oh I cannot, for you see I can't see the sun, so by rule of sight it cannot be day." 

”I see your dilemma, Lavellan." Dorian said, using her surname as she used his. 

The pair bantered back and fourth for a few hours, interrupted every now and again by a sister passing Gwaedhiel a tonic. She took a sip, screwed up her nose and placed it on the tray next to the cot. 

”Not good enough for you, Inquisitor?" 

”It's Ghoul's Beard. Foul stuff," she complained, ”I prefer Spindleweed over that disgusting moss." 

Dorian's snort made her smile. 

When their conversation drew to a close, the pair retired to their respective cots and drifted to sleep. She did not know how long she slept, but when she woke she could hear the Commander drilling the soldiers, as well as Rylen drilling his men.   
The pair of ex-templars created a rolling echo that doubled over and intensified with each new barked order. Every now and again they'd shout the same thing, and Rylen would be sure to make his next order even louder till the pair of them were engaged in a shouting match, much to the poor troops dismay. 

Gwaedhiel lay on her back, listening to the two men practically bicker back and fourth till one of them shouted too loud and their voice cracked, cutting off their order in a pained noise and a forceful clear of the throat. It was Cullen. 

The resulting quiet meant that Rylen had taken the Commander's silence as a sign of his victory. 

Sipping a Lyrium potion that had been diluted with Dragonthorn tea, Gwaedhiel walked out of the infirmary and out to the courtyard. Cullen was standing to the side, watching the men as they ran through his drills. As she approached she heard him try and bark an order to a young boy of no more than sixteen, but the strain on his vocal chords caused him to leave it, though he simmered with annoyance as he watched the youth flail miserably with his hand-and-a-half sword. 

”Commander." Gwaedhiel greeted, bringing the handle-less cup to her lips as he took a sip. She smacked her lips together at the taste. She had never had Dragonthorn tea before and wanted to know what it tasted like without the metallic taste of Lyrium. 

Cullen seemed to stiffen for a moment before he shook himself and inclined his head in greeting. 

”Not going to talk to me today?" Gwaedhiel pushed, knowing full well his problem. 

Cullen looked at her with a pained expression, "forgive--" he coughed, "forgive me, Inquisitor, but I--" another cough, "can't." 

Gwaedhiel laughed, "that will teach you to have a shouting match with Rylen so early in the morning." 

”You heard?" His voice was hoarse, as if he had come down with the flu which burdened him with a scratchy, dry throat. 

”Commander, everyone heard." Gwaedhiel stated matter-of-factly. 

Cullen only grunted in response. 

”You'll have to do better." She said before turning away from him, before she returned to the infirmary she twisted back, he continued to watch her, a questioning eyebrow raised, "thank you for washing my things."

”It was no trouble, Inquisitor." 

His quiet acknowledgement warmed Gwaedhiel and she doubled her speed slightly so she could be behind the doors of the infirmary quicker so as to not look at him any longer. 

She spent the rest of the day sleeping and sipping Lyrium.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 6 to make up for the two week long break. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, enjoy :)

”The fortress is surely where Erimond fled. Alistair followed him as far as he dared, and he--" 

”I did see the man running to Adamant." 

The council sat in grim silence. A siege was certainly something they hadn't done before, but this time it was a fortress, not just a simple keep overrun by bandits or mad Templars. The Grey Wardens had been safe within the walls of Adamant since the Second Blight, and that certainly wasn't going to change because the Inquisition decided it wanted to knock on the doors. 

Gwaedhiel's eyes slid to watch Leliana, who was standing on the other side of the desk that served as their war table, a small map of Western Orlais laid out across it with black spots and crosses marking camps and quarries.   
The spymaster mirrored the Inquisitor's pose; weight on one leg, hip cocked to accommodate, arms crossed over her chest and head titled to the side as she watched and listened. 

Gwaedhiel shifted so she was leaning on her other foot, feeling the familiar weight of her staff shift in its restraints on her back. Scouts had found the staff after a thorough search of the ritual tower, the weapon had managed to roll under a pile of crates that had collapsed in the fighting, covering it. 

She was glad to have it back. 

Hawke and Alistair began bickering, their voices as hushed as they could manage given the fact they weren't in the war room at Skyhold, but in a large tent at Griffon Wing Keep. Cassandra and Bull had been appointed guard duty outside, Gwaedhiel could hear them talking to Blackwall who had decided he was bored and wanted company. 

The rest of Gwaedheil's companions had arrived just after sundown the previous day, at the Inquisitor's request. Josephine had marvellously anticipated their movements, thanks to her constant correspondence to the Commander, Spymaster, and, through them, the Inquisitor herself.   
The Ambassador had pulled a few strings and called in old favours in order to secure a source of food for the army that was on its way to Griffon Wing Keep as they spoke. Once arrived, the troops would be given a day to rest and prepare before the eventual attack began. 

They just had to come up with a plan. 

”Dorian and I could sneak in." Gwaedhiel suggested. ”Our use of magic will be useful." 

”Aye, but there will be more Warden mages within, they'll know the pair of you are coming." Cullen explained. 

”Aaand," Alistair quipped, his fight with Hawke momentarily forgotten, "that fortress has been standing for years, and no one has ever need able to sneak in. There's no way in or out save for the gates." 

Gwaedhiel twisted her lips in frustration. 

”It seems the only way to take Adamant is to hit it head first." Hawke remarked. 

”I agree." Leliana spoke, saying the first thing since the meeting started over an hour ago. ”It seems the only way we can hope to crack adamant is try to beat it down." 

”Well." Gwaedhiel said with a sigh through her nose. ”Good thing I asked Josie to send the battering rams." 

 

\------------

 

The troops arrivals were staged throughout the day. The first force to arrive were transporting the battering ram, the heavy metal and wooden weapon gleamed in the sunlight and cast shadows on the men. At Cullen's order they left it in the courtyard of the keep.   
The second group arrived just an hour after the first, transporting weapons and armour. One by one the weapons were placed in the armoury of the keep and the doors locked to stop anyone from wandering in and taking anything before they were ready. 

The last brought ladders. 

Hidden within the strategy tent, the Commander, Spymaster, and Inquisitor poured over maps and missives, scratching down orders on fresh pieces of parchment only to scribble them out and start anew. Scouts had been sent to Adamant already, working to find the easiest route for the troops to march. 

”You will lead the charge, Cullen," Gwaedhiel explained, pointing to a spot on the map just in front of the main gate of the Fortress, "once the gates are down, my team will take over. Leliana will lead the group scaling the walls, hopefully our loud doorbell will distract most of the Wardens long enough for at least a third of the troops to begin infiltrating the fortress." 

”We must take into account the demons that will undoubtedly be inside." Leliana reminded. 

”Yes," Gwaedhiel agreed, "that is why I plan to already be inside the walls when the troops arrive on the battlements." 

The trio took a step back from the table and slowly nodded to themselves and each other. 

”A solid plan, Inquisitor. I'm impressed." Cullen stated. 

”Thank you, Commander. Now, the pair of you get some rest, we've a long night ahead of us." 

 

\----------

 

Cullen couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in his cot in the barracks, listening to the soft snoring of other troops who were getting as much sleep as they could before nightfall. Instead Cullen found himself staring up at the ceiling, thoughts of the ritual tower swirling throughout his mind. Blood magic.   
He felt a shiver run down his spine and he tried to push the thoughts of Kinloch away, now was not the time to remember those experiences, even if his heart had stopped at the sight of the Inquisitor helpless before the rage demon, her strength exhausted and her staff missing. 

He had panicked, for a moment his vision betrayed him and he thought he was back in the circle tower, trying in vain to protect the young mages from the abominations that were now crawling the halls, but he blinked and his vision was flooded with bright sunlight and the form of the Inquisitor. 

Silencing an annoyed growl Cullen pulled himself out of the cot and elected to walk barefoot through the keep. 

It was not the best of ideas. 

The sun had passed his zenith hours ago, but the sandstone was still hot and he found himself practically hopping from one patch of shade to the next as he made his way up the stairs to the strategy tent and workbenches. 

What he didn't expect to find was the Inquisitor. Gwaedhiel was stooped over an alchemy table using a mortar and pestle to grind buds of Black Lotus into a paste. He knew she was stocking up on her Lyrium reserves.   
She had told him before that she had never taken the stuff when she was with clan Lavellan, but the small time she spent in a circle was enough to remind her of how quickly her body burns through energy and before a big battle like the one they were about to undertake she wanted to ensure she had at least one vial of Lyrium. 

”Inquisitor?" Cullen asked. 

She straightened and turned around, looking at him for a moment before she went back to grinding the flower. ”Can't sleep?" She asked. 

"Unfortunately not." Cullen agreed. ”What about you?" 

”I can't seem to stop tossing." Gwaedhiel stopped her brewing and turned to him. “I'm worried for tonight, worried that something will go wrong, worried that something will happen to my friends." 

“I'm sure your companions can hold their own." 

”That's just it, I _know_ they can, yet I'm still scared." 

”Fear is a part of war." 

They fell silent for a moment, each looking at the other before averting their gaze, trying to look at something other than the person in front of them. Finally Cullen spoke; "I understand your fear, Gwaedhiel." 

She looked up at him from under her lashes. ”Do you?" 

”Yes." He more than understood, he held the same fear--had been harbouring it since Kinloch and Kirkwall, but he kept that to himself. 

Gwaedhiel uttered a low, groggy groan and pushed her face into the front of Cullen's tunic. The sudden action took Cullen by surprise and he stood rigid for a moment, trying to make sense of her intentions, if there were any.   
She continued to make the same groaning noise, but softer, almost as if she wanted to be rid of pent up stress but knew no other way. Slowly Cullen lifted his arms and encircled them around her shoulders, hugging her lightly. He felt his heart quicken in pace and it became increasingly difficult to breathe, despite the embrace being nothing more than a simple, friendly gesture meant to comfort and console. 

She pulled away before he could think too hard about it, and he suddenly wondering if she heard his heart at all. 

She cleared her throat, her cheeks pinkening by the minute; "It's probably best we try and sleep, Commander." Titles. Something she knew, something that kept them both on safe soil. He relaxed and agreed. 

”We start the assault at sundown."

 

\-------------

 

The impact of the battering ram slamming against the reinforced wood and iron gates jarred Gwaedhiel's teeth. She watched as Cullen ordered the six troops operating the massive piece of machinery to reverse their course and resume pounding on the gates.   
After the third such ram the wood splintered, flakes as large as her forearm flying crazily away from the door as if the devil were on their tails. Through the cracks in the wood she could faintly see the front courtyard of the fortress, and the demons contained within. 

Letting her eyes roll to the back of her head out of frustration she sighed heavily and averted her gaze, turning it instead towards the shock of troops Leliana was leading, instructing them to get the ladders in place before the gate came down so they could scale the walls quickly. 

It didn't take long for the gate to implode, bits of wood and iron scattering every which way as the battering ram plunged straight through the fortress's last inanimate defence. The troops swarmed the quadrangle, swords and shields up and screaming like mad men. Once the last of the troops filtered passed the battering ram Gwaedhiel took her place, leading her team consisting of her entire inner circle plus Hawke and Alistair.   
She glimpsed the Commander fighting alongside Rylen and three other troops, clearing a path for as far as they could. The battlements were where she needed to go, her men needed her and she wasn't about to leave them at the mercy of the madly cackling demons she could hear from her position on the ground. 

It didn't take her and her team long to circle around to the top of the fortress's walls, in little time she was standing back to back with Solas, casting spell after spell to keep the demons at bay. Fire shot from her fingers as often as lighting danced from her staff, split between two outlets she felt surges of mana so strong she almost fell over.   
It was while Cassandra was stuck beneath the claw of a pride demon did she try her sword once again. Straightening up, she concentrated on where she wanted to go and took a step. For a moment the floor fell away from her feet and everything blurred, feeling like she just stepping into a wind tunnel that was determined to snatch her hair and clothing from her.   
All too soon she hit solid ground again, only the pride demon was not at a safe distance rather it was right in front of her, she almost stepped _through_ it. Without pausing to see if she was truly okay she drew her sword and drove it hilt deep into the chest of the demon. It's ugly, deep laughter died with a choke. 

 

\----------

 

The bridge was crumbling, she was running, and he could see. He had reached her at the top of the fortress just as the Blighted dragon suffered a surge of energy to the chest, blowing the cobblestone floor out from underneath it. Clarel managed to get to safety, if safety meant straight into Cullen's arms who immediately passed her on to a Templar still with Lyrium in his veins to detain her, then yes. Safety. 

The Warden Commander was not the person he was concerned about at that moment. Gwaedhiel, Hawke, and Alistair were running, scrambling, panicking, as they tried to out pace the crumbling formation behind them. 

Cullen watched, helpless, as Alistair tripped and skidded forward several paces with a loud groan and Gwaedhiel turned back to help. Hawke stopped and turned on the pair of them, yelling and hollering for them to hurry, that they were going to get swallowed.  
Cullen took a few steps forward to try and help when he saw Gwaedhiel look at the crumbling edge and back to him. There was something in her eyes, fear? Regret? He did not know, but suddenly he felt an immense force push him back, almost slamming him against the wall. He slid to his knees, winded, and looked up to see Gwaedhiel's arm outstretched and his name on her lips before the stone gave way underneath the trio and they all plummeted into the abyss below. 

”No!" Cullen yelled so loud that his voice broke and he tasted blood. He crawled to the edge of the structure, which had finally stopped shaking, in time to glimpse a rift snapping closed on the figure of Kalinda Hawke as she yelled and cursed and swore. 

 

\---------

 

Even after finally facing her fears on the other side of that rift, she still couldn't bring herself to believe that she willingly let Kalinda stay. She stood with her hand outstretched, the anchor pulling towards the rift, yet she did not cast the necessary spell to close it. Hawke was just on the other side of that rift, if she gathered enough people maybe she could go back and save her. Maybe she wouldn't have to sacrifice herself. 

She knew it was false hope. 

 

\---------

 

Bodies were collected, wounds were wrapped and healed. 

”Where's Hawke?" 

Only tears and intense guilt as she told him not here. He mentioned Fenris, then left. 

No one can find him. 

The march back to Skyhold was long and tiring. Sleepless nights pervaded every camp till she was dreading the inevitable halt for the night. 

Nightmares were her friends now. She pushed everyone else away. 

Cullen watched and saw the path she was walking, and decided he would not let her turn her back on everything good.

 

\---------

 

He brought her flower buds. She hadn't left her room for much longer than a meal and war table meetings since arriving back at Skyhold almost three weeks ago. When he looked at her arms he noticed she had acquired a new tattoo on her left bicep, upon enquiry she shook her head and mumbled it was something the Dalish do to honour the dead, especially someone who helped by giving their life. 

The flowers helped. 

Slowly he began to see her move about the castle easier. The return of Varric lifted her spirits, especially once he assured her he did not hate her. She oversaw the troops training more often now, engaging in short but interesting conversations with him no matter how short tempered he seemed to be on some days. 

All the while a letter lay hidden in the war room, Josephine could not bring herself to deliver it.


	7. Chapter 7

The night sweats were constant now, his sword arm failed him more often than not and he struggled to keep the tremble in his limbs hidden from sight as he walked and stood among the troops. He gripped the pommel of his sword tighter with each passing moment till something inevitably gave.   
He snapped at a fresh recruit who happened to be struggling with the concept of sword fighting, unable to hold the weapon properly, even after Cullen had shown him several times. Usually his patience was limitless, but it grew shorter with every sleep missed, every demon sighting, and every dose refused. 

The poor lad had been dumbstruck. As had Bull and Krem, who had been participating in the training. 

The Commander excused himself. 

Back in his office, he locked the doors and shed himself of his outer layer of armour a fever rising he feared he was falling ill, and wanted to be rid of the cumbersome layers so he could at least attempt to grab half an hour of sleep. 

He was not as fortunate as he liked. It had been a while since he had dreamed of her, but it no less sent his heart racing and his fear spiking when the desire demon decided to visit him this time. She taunted and jeered, taking the form of a young Templar initiate that he had fancied. She studied him again and her appearance shifted. It was now the Mage he had fallen in love with in Kinloch. 

The woman he found lying dead at the feet of Ulred. 

He knew she was dead, yet the demon had him in her claws and he could not leave. Suddenly his dream took a more sinister turn and he was reliving his imprisonment. Demons crawled over the very walls there were so many.

All the while a single demon stood before him, only this time it was not the young mage. No, this apparition had pointed ears, a smaller body, deep red hair that fell in curls around her face from her braid. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, and her eyes flashed gold and he found he could not look away. 

With a jolt he woke, barely an hour had passed yet he did not feel rested. His great annoyance and a throbbing headache that threatened to blind him caused him to haul his feet to the armoury, informing a scout to remain at his desk to ensure those who came looking knew where to find him. 

 

\-----------

 

As he had hoped, Cassandra was in the armoury. What she was doing he did not know, nor did he care. He simply wanted her to listen and to agree with him. 

”I can't do this any longer." He complained. 

”Nonsense, Cullen. You can endure this, you've done it before!" 

”Before I didn't have to deal with an entire army! I just had to worry about myself, I want your opinion, Cassandra. I want to know if I'm fit for this, and if not recommend a replacement!" 

”You want my opinion, Cullen? You can see this through! This is your choice, and you should see it through to the end. Do not just give up because you believe you cannot do it. You did not become Commander because of an ill-timed vote, you were chosen for a reason."

”No, Seeker. I can't do this, I don't _want_ to do this." 

”Do you want to continue taking it?" 

He was silent. ”No."

”What do you expect me to do?" Cassandra asked, exasperated. She walked to the front of the fire in the forge, staring at him with annoyed intensity. 

”I _expect_ you to keep your word, this pain...it's relentless! I can't--"

She cut him off "You give yourself too little credit!" 

He ignored her. ”If I'm unable to fulfil the vows I've sworn then _nothing_ good has come of this!" He tried to make her understand, tried to make her resign her stubborn opinion in the matter. ”If you think--"

He cut himself off when the door to the armoury opened and his heart jolted when Gwaedhiel strode into the room, looking quizzically between Cassandra and himself. Knowing he has given the Inquisitor too bad of an image of himself, and the fact he could no longer think straight without his headache pounding against the front of his skull he left, a plead for forgiveness on his lips. 

“And people think _I'm_ stubborn." He heard Cassandra say before he closed the door behind him and began the walk back to his office. 

 

\--------

 

It sang to him, he could smell the metallic tang of the Lyrium as it sat in the box. The kit had been waiting for him when he arrived back at his office. Cole was standing next to his desk, the kit unlocked and open. Inviting. 

”It will help." Is what the boy said. 

”No, Cole. It won't." 

”The song, it's maddening, thrilling, like swallowing a star. The power is unfathomable, unlimitless, amazing. You want it again, but it hurts. You don't want it, what would she think? What would she _say_?"

”That's enough, Cole." Cullen urged. 

The boy lifted his head to look at the Commander, his hat cast a shadow over his face and Cullen was unsure if he was even looking at him. Without another word the boy disappeared, and Cullen looked at the Lyrium kit on the desk and wondered when he had put it there.   
He moved to stand behind the desk and reached into the kit, pulling out the vial of Lyrium. He stopped himself. He did not want to take it. He carefully placed the vial back, a strange yearning filled him. One he hadn't felt in a long time, not since joining the Templars and having his first sip of the blue liquid, and he found himself leaning on both his hands, head bowed over the kit as he looked at the contents, studying everything within. 

With a sudden, uncontrollable, rage he picked up the kit and flung it as hard as he could against the wall with a shout. 

He barely missed Gwaedhiel as she opened the door. The kit exploded against the cobblestone next to the door and she twisted to doge, eyes wide and confused as she looked back at him for an explanation. 

”Maker's breath!" He exclaimed, "I almost--I didn't hear you enter, I--" he stopped himself. What use was there explaining when she had probably already seen enough to either hate him or force him to take it again. 

”Forgive me." He said. 

”Cullen, are you alright?" She asked, walking into the office and closing the door behind her. She looked down at the destroyed kit and contemplated picking it up. ”If you need to talk?" 

”You don't have--" Cullen's knees gave way and he barely managed to catch himself on the desk. That was the fourth time today. He held up a hand, prohibiting Gwaedhiel from helping. 

It didn't stop her from coming to his side and helping him straighten. He tried not to lean on her and he thought himself successful till she asked if he was going to be okay. Truthfully, he did not know. 

”Talk to me, Cullen. I'm your friend." 

He was silent for a moment, observing her. It had not been long since Adamant, and he was certain her nightmares still plagued her. Often he heard her walking about the keep late at night, muttering to herself about anything and everything. Sometimes she would pass through his office, opening and closing the doors as quietly as she could so as not to disturb him as he supposedly slept in the loft above. 

He always heard her. 

Slowly at first he began recounting the Ferelden circle, speeding up as he realised that she wanted to know, wanted to listen. He wasn't burdening her. His speech became fast as he recounted everything, right down to what the demons had said to him as they raked his back with their talons.   
He told her of Kirkwall, of Meredith's madness and the Mage who blew up the chantry. Of why Kalinda gave him such a hard time when she was here, that caused the light in Gwaedhiel's eyes to dim slightly but he did not stop talking in time to ask her about it. 

”Can you understand why I want nothing to do with that life?" He finally asked. 

”Of course I can--"

”Don't." He hadn't wanted her to answer. That she had warmed him slightly, but it didn't chase the anger and fear he felt. ”You should be questioning what I've done. I thought _this_ ," he gestured to everything around him, the Inquisition in general, "would be better. That I would be able to atone for what I've done, gain some semblance of control over my life, but these thoughts just _won't leave me_!" 

He tipped his head back before he looked at her, then down at his hands; "I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!" He shouted. He slammed his fist into his bookshelf, dislodging several novels. He simply watched as they clattered to the floor, some closed, others opened and landed face down, their pages no doubt crumpled from their fall.   
At seeing one of his favourite novels lying open on the floor his anger seemed to suddenly disappear. He looked at the book for a moment longer, tears filling his eyes that he did not bid to fall. ”I should be taking it." He repeated, quieter. Almost a whisper. 

Gwaedhiel had moved closer to him, he saw as he turned his head to her. She was watching him, something in her eyes that he could not place. It wasn't pity, though he almost wished it was. 

”This doesn't have to be about the Inquisition." She said softly, "Do you want to this?" 

With a sigh Cullen looked back down at the books. ”No." He stated. He bent slowly to pick up the book, smoothing the pages that had folded and crinkled before sliding it back into its spot on the shelf. ”These memories have always haunted me, if they become worse--"

She cut him off with a gentle hand against his sternum. The warmth of her palm seeped through his tunic to his skin as she pressed slightly firmer against him, "You can do this." She stated plainly and with conviction. ”You don't need Lyrium, Cullen. You can do this." 

Her words didn't ease the pain he felt, but he felt better for hearing them. He nodded, unable to speak less he suddenly burst into tears. 

With his answer given in action in lieu of words, she departed; heading back towards the main hall. She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder at him before leaving the door open to allow sunlight and air to enter the office. 

 

\-----------

 

Josephine watched as the Inquisitor flitted about the store, pulling cloth from the rolls and feeling it between index and thumb before making a noise of either displeasure, thoughtfulness, or acceptance before moving to the next one. 

Already she had lengths of fabric folded over her arm, almost trailing along the ground as the elf moved, but still she was not entirely satisfied. This side of the Inquisitor was surprising to even Leliana. No one expected her to show much interest in the invitation, in fact Dorian had placed three gold coins on her screwing up her nose and turning away.   
Instead she had surprised everyone by immediately making plans to travel to Val Royaux to acquire fabrics to make a dress. Josephine had expressed the fact that they could simply buy a dress, but Gwaedhiel had none of it, explaining that she had made all her children's clothes by hand and wished to finally make something beautiful for herself. 

Varric would not say who had won the bet, though Dorian did not let anyone forget that he had lost three gold coin. 

At the mention of her children, Josephine was reminded of the letter that was moved from the war table to the top drawer of her own desk and she felt a twinge of guilt, but the thought was quickly pushed out of her mind when she glimpsed the Inquisitor unrolling a bolt of shimmering black fabric that she wrapped herself in, peering down and moving her head and hips side to side to better judge the material. Finally she nodded and instructed the store clerk of her desired length. 

It was more than Josephine anticipated. 

As they exited the store, spoils wrapped in paper and placed in neat crates for transportation, Josephine suddenly lost track of the Inquisitor again. She reappeared with two sweet rolls in her hand and offered the other to Josephine. The ambassador took it gratefully before carefully pulling it apart and eating it, unlike Gwaedhiel who took a sizeable bite out of hers. 

”We need to do this more often, Josie." She observed. 

”Yes, Inquisitor, we do." And it was the truth. 

 

\-----------

 

The dress was nowhere near how she wanted it. Standing in front of the floor-length mirror in her quarters she studied herself with intense concentration. Bare skin treated her from her reflection and she had to take a moment to look over her body more closely. 

She had gained weight since becoming Inquisitor. The abundance of food provided to her was infinitely better than the days she went without with her clan, and it was showing. She did not hate the weight gain, on the contrary, she rather liked it. She no longer felt like her bones were poking through her skin, and she felt stronger. As if she could go up against Bull in a fist fight, of course she knew she wouldn't win, but she'd be able to hold her own for longer. 

She reminded herself to ask Bull to duel her. 

Pushing that thought aside, she moved closer to the mirror and inspected her scars. She felt a peculiar indifference to the lines and patches on her skin, the worst of which were on her arms and neck.   
The burn scar under her jaw spread down to her right shoulder, discolouring the skin and leaving a rough, uneven surface. She had several white scars crisscrossing her right arm down to her palm, the biggest was a dark, jagged line that cut through the side of her forearm; the result of being too slow to dodge an arrow. 

Several such scars littered her upper body and she looked at each one carefully. The one scar she couldn't bring herself to look at was the one cutting through her left eyebrow and curving down to her cheekbone. The scar warped the Vallislin on her face and she highly considered getting the ruined lines fixed, but then thought against it. The scar was a reminder of what she did, who she forced to stay behind. 

She shook herself and picked up a length of twine and began taking her measurements. 

 

\----------

 

”You must tell us of your victory at Adamant Fortress, Inquisitor!" The gathered nobles cockled and crowed as she passed them daily. It was always the same request, always the same response.

”I cannot spare the time." 

She knew that they would not stay sated forever and that she'll need to come forward about it sooner or later, but the longer she believed that she had done nothing wrong, the easier it was to get on with life. Only Varric knew the truth, and while he said that he had forgiven her, that he never hated her in the first place, she did not think the same for the nobles gathered in the hall of Skyhold.   
Surely they would rip her to shreds the moment they found out of her deception. They would leave her in the dirt, broken with wounded pride, and the entire Inquisition would see it, and they would leave. 

She truly did not know if she could handle him leaving. She liked him too much. It was a shocking revelation, but one she did not try and stop. If she had learnt anything since the Conclave, it's that she should not deny herself simple happiness, even if the one responsible was none the wiser. 

”Come now, Inquisitor, surely you have some fantastical tale to tell?" 

”There is nothing to say." She mumbled. 

”Of course there is!"

And so she would always recount the battle outside of the fade, then make an excuse to leave, leaving them wondering. 

 

\-----------

 

Cole was not privy to the inner workings of the Inquisitor's thoughts, though he knew she did not mind he wanted to respect her level of power and keep his own help from her hurts, but some things he wanted to fix, wanted to take the hurt away from her. 

It was a peculiar hurt, one of longing and not of pain. At first he did not understand it and sought to ask others about what she might be hurting from. He approached the Qunari first, appearing before him as he was drinking with his men one night, bellowing loudly about the victory against the High Dragon he and the Inquisitor had slain in Crestwood. 

”She hurts." He said, startling the man almost out of his seat, much to the delight of the Chargers. 

”Who hurts, kid?" 

” _She_ does. He stands vigilant, always working, always enduring. ”I can help, just let me help." ” Cole spoke quietly. 

Bull laughed and clapped the boy on the shoulders. ”I'm gonna let you in on a secret, kid. It's in your best interests to keep out of the Boss's head." 

Cole did not understand, so he sought out the enchanter. 

”The heart is a fickle thing, my dear." She had told him, he thought he understood, but then again he did not know much about love, but he knew compassion. 

The Seeker would not talk to him, nor the elf. The Tevinter only served to muddle his confusion more, and the dwarf asked him to relay every little detail about the Inquisitor and the Commander when they "finally stop dancing around each other." 

So Cole approached her directly. She was in her quarters, sewing lengths of fabric together with magic while using her own hands to stitch smaller pieces together. Cole was unsure what she was making, but it looked beautiful, black fabric moved and shimmered like water in a river. Only it reminded him of the blackness of night, and the movement of the stars. 

”Safe and solid," he had began, startling her out of her concentration, "protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him." And with that the spirit was gone. 

Gwaedhiel sat staring at the space he had been only moments ago, her sewing halted as the fabric slowly lowered to the bed. She turned to look straight out to the mountains through the open doors and tried to still her rapidly beating heart. Could she really be so selfish? Would he _welcome_ her? Or turn her away? 

She didn't know, but she wanted to find out. 

 

\--------

 

She did not know why, but he was glad he kept rubbing at the back of his neck. If he was nervous, that was the only sign he gave, and she took it as a comfort. Unfortunately her nerves must have settled in her gut for too long, for as she went to open her mouth she could not get the words out and it felt as if she grew heavy with each minute of silence at stretched between them. 

”It's a nice day." Cullen half stuttered, half mumbled. 

The comment was so sudden, so out of the blue from him that she did not know how to comprehend it. She looked at him, searching for a hint of sarcasm, or the working of his lips as he continued to talk, adding to the phrase something about drilling the troops and ensuring that her own training stays up to date.   
When nothing came she stopped walking, he did too after a moment and she looked shim again, from head to toe, before she realised that he was waiting for her to respond. 

”What?" The question was short, and obviously not something Cullen wanted, or expected to hear. 

”It's..." He dropped his arm from behind his neck. ”There was something you wished to discuss." 

Discuss. She could work with _discuss_ , after all they _discussed_ at length at the war table almost everyday with Josephine and Leliana, how could _discussing_ with just the two of them be any different? 

No matter how many different ways she said discuss, it still didn't settle her nerves. 

”Cullen, I--" her throat closed and she was suddenly hyper aware of what will happen when he declines. She would be unable to face him in meetings, unable to train next to him, and unable to look to him in battle. Perhaps it was best she keep her feelings to herself. 

As she was about to make some excuse as to her bringing him out here, she spotted Cole talk to a scout before disappearing, the scout seemingly made up their mind about something, but could not remember what had brought them to that decision.

So she steeled her nerves; "Cullen I care for you, and...could you...think of me as..." She let the question fade as she tried to both avoid his gaze and maintain eye contact. 

”I could, I mean, I had thought about what I might say in this situation." He aid quickly, almost stumbling over his speech. He lifted his hand, covered his eyes and walked away. 

The hollow feeling in Gwaedhiel's chest replaced her nerves and fluttering stomach. The feeling was so finite and still that she wished for the churning and fear that it had squashed, carefully she took a step towards him, "what would you say?"

”You are the Inquisitor. We are at war, it would be inappropriate. Selfish." He paused before looking at her, "and I thought it impossible." 

She moved closer, the feeling in her chest sparking back to life slowly, like a fire that had been left to die suddenly received a log and began to grow again, warmth spread through her limbs and she risked lifting her hand to place it in his gauntlet, covering his forearm. ”What if it wasn't?" 

”It seems too much to ask," he was closer now, his voice quieter, softer. He leaned closer to her, slowly, as he searched her face for any protestation she might have. She offered none. ”But I want to--"

Her back was against the wall of the battlements now, and his hands were either side of her, boxing her in, but no so close that she could not slip out if she so pleased. She didn't move.  
She could feel his breath stinging her lips and he drew nearer, quick puffs that betrayed the nerves he was feeling and she felt comforted knowing that he was the same fluttering wreck that she was. 

He moved closer, she tilted her head to gain a better angle when his lips finally touched her's. Her eyes slid closed slowly and she could feel his lips ghost over here, she could practically _taste_ him when a sudden shout made them spring apart. 

”Commander." It was Jim. 

”What?" It came out far harsher than he had intended, but he hoped the scout could connect the dots and leave them be. 

”Sister Leliana's report for you, ser. You wished me to deliver it as soon as possible." Evidently not. Cullen glowered at the man, watched as his eyes flicked to the Inquisitor who was trying to hide her flushed face, then back to the Commander. ”Or...to your office...right." Jim backed away quickly before turning around and practically ran back down to Cullen's office. 

The moment gone Gwaedhiel sighed. ”If you need to--" 

She was cut off suddenly, her next word swallowed by Cullen's lips as he finally-- _finally_ kissed her.

Gwaedhiel felt like touching the stars. 

 

\----------

 

”Fasta vas! Varric get up here!" Dorian's called down to the dwarf sitting by the fireplace in the hall. The Tevinter had relocated from his usual study spot in the library to speak with Madame de Fer in the hopes he could gain a better understanding of the enchanter. 

What he witnessed, however, was far better. 

Varric was by their side in no time and Dorian pointed out from the balcony to the topmost corner of the battlements. He followed the line of Dorian's finger and his eyebrows rose to the point they could have become his hairline. 

All three of them had a clear view of the Commander and Inquisitor locking tongues on the battlements. The Commander pulled away before Gwaedhiel pulled him back to her and they resumed their previous position, laughter floated on the wind towards them. 

”It's about damn time, Curly." 

 

\-----------

 

”I was wonderin' when you'd finally confess." 

”What do you mean, Rylen?" 

“Was wonderin' when you'd finally tell the lass you love her."

 

\----------

 

”Have a thing for strapping young Templars do you?"

”What's that supposed to mean? I thought we were discussing the tomes."

”Oh we are, it's just something I've come to notice about you."

 

\----------

 

“What are you doing here? It's far too late for anyone to be up."

”I couldn't sleep." 

”Nightmares?"

A nod, "and I could hear you coming over the bridge."

”You're here to welcome me home?"

A blush and a small smile, "yes."

 

\-----------

 

”You can't keep this from her forever, Josie."

”I know, Leliana, but she has too much on her shoulders right now." 

”It might get worse if you don't tell her. Sooner or later she's going to wonder why her letters are going without response. Does Cullen know?"

”Not yet."

”Then tell him, and he'll tell her the news." 

”...let me think about it."


End file.
